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STORIES OF 

SHAKESPEARE'S 

ENGLISH HISTORY PLAYS 



Other Books by H. A. Guerber 



STORIES OF SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH HIS- 
TORY PLAYS. 

STORIES OF SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDIES. 

STORIES OF TtlE WAGNER OPERAS. 

STORIES OF FAMOUS OPERAS 

STORIES OF POPULAR OPERAS. 

LEGENDS OF SWITZERLAND. 

LEGENDS OF THE VIRGIN AND CHRIST. 

THE EMPRESSES OF FRANCE. 

HOW TO PREPARE FOR EUROPE. 

YOURSELF. MANUAL OF PHYSIOLOGY. 

MYTHS OF GREECE AND ROME. 

MYTHS OF NORTHERN LANDS. 

LEGENDS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. 

LEGENDS OF THE RHINE. 

STORY OF THE CHOSEN PEOPLE. 

STORY OF THE GREEKS. 

STORY OF THE ROMANS. 

STORY OF THE ENGLISH. 

STORY OF OLD FRANCE. 

STORY OF MODERN FRANCE. 

STORY OF THE THIRTEEN COLONIES. 

STORY OF THE GREAT REPUBLIC. 

CONTES ET LEGENDES. 

MARCHEN UND ERZAHLUNGEN. 

MARIE LOUISE ET LE DUC DE REICHSTADT. 

CUPID AND PSYCHE. FRENCH COMPOSITION. 

JOAN OF ARC. FRENCH COMPOSITION. 

THE PRISONERS OF THE TEMPLE. FRENCH 
COMPOSITION. 

EASY FRENCH COMPOSITION. 



STORIES OF 

SHAKESPEARE'S 

ENGLISH HISTORY PLAYS 



H; AMiUER 



GUERBER 

Author of "Stories of Wagner's Operas," *'How 
TO Prepare for Europe," etc. 



PFith Illustrations 




NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 

1912 



V-'- 

^^^' 



Copyright, 1912 
By dodd, mead and company 

Published^ September, 1912 



CCl.A3:i7l>33 



DEDICATED 
TO THE 

SHAKESPEARE SOCIETIES 

OF 

NYACK, N. Y. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

CYMBELINE I 

KING JOHN 27 

RICHARD II 52 

HENRY IV. PART 1 80 

HENRY IV. PART II IO4 

HENRY V 129 

HENRY VI. PART 1 153 

HENRY VI. PART II 1 84 

HENRY VI. PART III 213 

RICHARD III 247 

HENRY VIII 283 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

SHAKESPEARE BEFORE SIR THOMAS ^. 

LUCY Frontispiece 

Facing Page 

CYMBELINE .......... l8 

HUBERT AND PRINCE ARTHUR 4O 

KING RICHARD II. . . 66 ~^ 

FALSTAFF AND BARDOLPH 92 " 

HENRY IV. AND PRINCE HAL II 6 

WOOING OF HENRY V I4O 

TALBOT SHOWS COUNTESS HIS TROOPS . . 164 

PENANCE OF ELEANOR, DUCHESS OF GLOUCES- 
TER 198 

HENRY HEARS FATHER MOURN OVER SON, AND 

SON OVER FATHER 23O 

PRINCESS IN TOWER 262 " 

QUEEN CATHARINE OF ARAGON ... . . . 3O2 



STORIES OF 

SHAKESPEARE'S 

ENGLISH HISTORY PLAYS 

CYMBELINE 

Act. I. The first act opens in the days of Caesar 
Augustus, in the royal garden in Britain, where 
two Romans are declaring their country is no longer 
in good odour. Besides, trouble is brewing at court, 
for King Cymbeline's daughter has secretly mar- 
ried Posthumus, — a poor but worthy gentleman, — 
instead of Cloten, son of the Queen by a former 
marriage. But, although the royal couple are angry, 
the courtiers rejoice that Imogen has not selected 
the man they despise, for her brothers having been 
stolen from the nursery twenty years before, she is 
now heir to the throne. 

The arrival of the Queen, with her step-daughter 
and Posthumus, drives these men away. Then the 
Queen is overheard stating that although appointed 
jailor to Imogen, she will allow the couple a parting 
interview, and will strive to appease the King's 
wrath. While she strolls away, the young people 
exchange tender farewells, Posthumus promising to 
remain true to his wife, whose letters he will eagerly 
await in Rome. Just then the Queen reappears, 
urging the married lovers to part ; but, although she 
pretends to favour them, she is secretly their foe, for 
she hurries off to decoy Cymbeline hither. 

After receiving from his wife a diamond ring, and 
I 



2 Cymbeline 

fastening on her arm a bracelet she is to wear con- 
stantly for his sake, Posthumus is about to leave, 
when Cymbeline arrives and expresses great indig- 
nation at finding the banished man with his wife. 
Although Posthumus submissively departs, Cymbe- 
line hotly reproaches Imogen for marrying without 
his consent, becoming angry when she declares she 
has picked out the best man and only wishes she 
were poor enough to be free to follow him. The 
Queen now returns, apparently surprised to find her 
husband, and meekly listens to his reproaches for not 
mounting better guard, ere he departs. She and 
Imogen are about to withdraw too, when Posthu- 
mus's servant, Pisanio, comes to report that his 
master, on his way out of the palace, quarrelled with 
Cloten, who barely escaped from his rage. But, 
although the Queen expresses keen anxiety for her 
son, Imogen wishes the duel had been fought to a 
finish, ere she begs Pisanio to escort her husband to 
his ship. 

We next behold Cloten on a public square boast- 
ing of his late encounter with Posthumus to two 
lords, one of whom lavishes fulsome praise upon him, 
while the other, in asides, stigmatises him as a 
coward. A moment later we find ourselves in 
Imogen's room, where she is interviewing Pisanio, — 
who has watched her husband out of sight, — inter- 
rupting his account with loving exclamations and 
regretting that they had no time in their last inter- 
view to agree on stated hours wherein to commune 
in spirit. When summoned to join the Queen, 
Imogen leaves the scene, bidding her servant carry 
out her orders. 



Cymheline 3' 

The curtain next rises on a house in Rome, where 
Posthumus is sojourning, and where foreigners are 
discussing his affairs. When he enters, introduc- 
tions take place, and the conversation gradually 
turns upon women, each traveller boasting those of 
his land are most beautiful and best. When Post- 
humus lovingly declares his wife surpasses all the 
rest, the Italian lachimo insinuates that if admitted 
to Imogen's presence he would soon prove her hus- 
band over-confident! By sly arts he then eggs 
Posthumus on to grant him such an introduction 
after staking his diamond ring upon his wife's virtue. 
The counter wager settled, stakes are deposited with 
the host, and Posthumus and lachimo go off to draw 
up a legal document in regard to the bet. 

We now return to Cymbeline's palace, where 
the Queen bids her women gather flowers for her 
simples, ere she turns to her physician, who, after 
delivering a tiny box, earnestly inquires why she 
wants the deadly poison it contains? The Queen 
carelessly replies she wishes to use it on noxious 
creatures, adding in an aside, as soon as Pisanio 
appears, that this drug is to be tried upon him. Hav- 
ing surprised her baleful glance, the physician feels 
glad he gave her only an innocent drug, which will 
leave the partaker none the worse after a period of 
deathlike sleep. 

After dismissing her doctor, the Queen inquires 
how Imogen feels, promising Pisanio a rich reward 
provided he induce her to favour Cloten. Then she 
drops the box she holds, graciously offering it to 
Pisanio when he picks it up, and assuring him it 
contains a cordial which five times saved Cymbeline's 



4 Cymheline 

life. After a few more remarks, she declares in 
an aside, that, knowing PIsanio is betraying her, 
she means to dispose of him before attempting Imo- 
gen's life. Her women now returning with the 
flowers, the Queen leaves the apartment with them, 
while Pisanio mutters he will die rather than cheat 
his master. 

Meantime, In another room of the palace, Imo- 
gen is mourning over her trying situation, guarded 
by a false step-mother, wooed by the latter's son, 
parted from her husband, and ignorant of her broth- 
ers' fate. Her soliloquy Is Interrupted by PIsanio, 
ushering in lachimo, who brings a letter from Rome. 
As Posthumus's messenger, he is warmly welcomed, 
and while Imogen eagerly peruses the missive he 
hands her, he slyly notes her charms, muttering that 
if her mind corresponds to her appearance, his wager 
is lost. However, determined to make an attempt 
to win it fairly ere resorting to fraud, lachimo, after 
Imogen has read aloud part of the letter, moralises 
upon the folly of those who, possessing the best, run 
after inferior things. His first insinuations being 
unheeded, he fancies he may prosper better If left 
alone with Imogen, and therefore bids PIsanio look 
after his servant. 

Entirely absorbed in thoughts of her husband, 
Imogen questions the traveller, only to learn Posthu- 
mus Is gay, and Indulges In such free talk about 
women that he evidently feels no respect for her 
sex. Such news seems so incredible, that when the 
stranger pities her for being married to such a man, 
Imogen fails to understand him. When lachimo 
next hints that she can take her revenge, she inno- 



Cymheline 5 

cently inquires what revenge could exist for such an 
injury? Then lachimo becomes too explicit to be 
misunderstood, and Imogen denounces him as a 
villain, vow^s he has slandered her husband, and 
calls for her servant to turn him out. 

Seeing no prospect of attaining his vile ends, the 
subtle lachimo now pretends to have been testing 
Imogen's virtue, and after apologising, depicts her 
husband as a most virtuous and happy man. Then 
he explains that having purchased treasures Posthu- 
mus intends to offer to the Emperor, he wishes she 
would take charge of them until his departure on 
the morrow, a trust Imogen gladly accepts, promis- 
ing to keep the chest in her own room and to have 
a letter ready to forward with it to Rome. 

Act II. The second act opens before the palace, 
where Cloten, complaining of ill-luck at cards, swal- 
lows the praise of one lord without heeding the sar- 
castic asides of the other. Cloten having left with 
his toady to gamble with lachimo, the satirist ex- 
presses surprise that so clever a woman as the Queen 
should have so stupid a son, and pities 'divine 
Imogen for being placed between a father, ruled by 
a base queen, and this clownish youth, whom they 
are vainly trying to force her to love instead of her 
gallant husband. 

The curtain next rises on Imogen's bed-chamber, 
which, besides its usual furniture, contains the huge 
chest which lachimo has sent here for safe-keeping. 
Lying in bed, Imogen inquires the hour, and learn- 
ing that midnight has already struck, concludes to 
cease reading and try to sleep. She therefore bids 
her attendant retire, leaving the lamp lighted, and 



6 Cymheline 

after a brief but touching prayer, drops asleep. 

While she is lost in slumber, the trunk softly 
opens, and lachlmo, slipping out, surveys the apart- 
ment and its unconscious Inmate. Although admir- 
ing the sleeping Imogen, he dares not touch her, for 
he knows his evil purpose could never be fulfilled 
should she av^^aken. Taking out his note-book, he 
jots down In it data about all he sees, and drawing 
close to the bed, stealthily removes the bracelet from 
Imogen's wrist. A slight motion she makes, then 
enables him to catch a glimpse of a tiny mole on 
her fair breast ; and, after gleefully noting it, lachimo 
slips back Into his chest, hoping morning will soon 
appear so his servant can call for the trunk and set 
him free. 

The next scene is placed in the antechamber to 
this room, whither Cloten has come to serenade 
Imogen. After he has dismissed his musicians, the 
King and Queen enter, the former praising his step- 
son for trying to win the Princess's favour although 
regretting her continued indifference. While they 
are talking, announcement is made that a Roman 
ambassador craves audience. As Cymbellne knows 
this emissary bears an irate message from Rome in 
regard to the tribute he has refused to pay, he begs 
queen and step-son assist him in the coming inter- 
view. 

The royal couple having left, Cloten knocks at 
Imogen's door, and receiving no answer at first, 
decides to Insure prompter attention hereafter by 
tipping the first servant he sees. He is talking to 
one when Imogen comes in, and after gravely In- 
forming him she has no heart to listen to his suit, 



Cymbeline 7 

reproaches him for decrying Posthumus. Cloten's 
taunts and strictures finally goad Imogen into stating 
the meanest garment her husband ever wore is dearer 
to her than her interlocutor's whole person, a con- 
temptuous statement which enrages the Prince. 
Meantime, Imogen, paying no heed to him, sum- 
mons Pisanio to search for her missing bracelet, 
which she remembers kissing last night. The serv- 
ant having gone, Cloten reviles Imogen, who leaves 
the room, vowing she will never speak to him again. 
Left alone on the stage, the Prince then swears to 
be avenged, for the words she uttered rankle deep in 
his base heart. 

We are again transferred to Rome, where Pos- 
thumus, conversing with his host, assures him he 
will win the wager; confessing he has proved a 
dull companion of late, merely because his thoughts 
are so constantly with his wife. Hoping to divert 
him, his friend mentions the Roman ambassador 
must have claimed tribute, and that if Cymbeline 
again refuses it, war will ensue. Sure his King will 
fight rather than pay, Posthumus intimates that his 
countrymen being no longer the undisciplined bar- 
barians Cassar conquered, the war may end differ- 
ently from what Rome expects. 

Just then lachimo enters, having journeyed with 
such speed that Posthumus deems so prompt a re- 
turn spells defeat. After assuring him Imogen is 
one of the most beautiful women he has even seen, 
lachimo delivers her letter, and while Posthumus 
reads it, tells his host the Roman ambassador was 
expected at court the day he left. When Posthumus 
slyly remarks his diamond sparkles as brightly as 



8 Cymheline 

ever, lachimo fervently retorts no jewel in the world 
would compensate the pleasure he enjoyed in Imo- 
gen's society in Britain! Then, seeing his words 
fail to shake Posthumus's faith, he minutely de- 
scribes the princess's bed-chamber, information the 
husband thinks could easily be obtained from a 
chamber-maid. After playing upon Posthumus's 
emotions long enough to awaken unreasoning jeal- 
ousy, lachimo suddenly produces the bracelet, saying 
Imogen gave it to him as a thing she once prized. 
Still unable to credit evil, Posthumus asserts his wife 
sent it to him, but as this claim is not substantiated 
by any mention of the bracelet In his letter, he feels 
compelled to surrender his ring. On perceiving the 
rage and jealousy the husband can no longer re- 
strain, the host, suggesting that the bracelet may be 
stolen, demands some other proof of lachimo's suc- 
cess. When the traitor thereupon describes the mole 
on Imogen's breast, — adding the false statement that 
he kissed It, — the frantic Posthumus, unable to 
cherish further doubt of his wife's infidelity, rushes 
off the stage, while the host exclaims they must 
watch him lest he do himself harm ! 

Meantime, In another room, Posthumus despair- 
ingly comments upon the faithlessness of women- 
kind, for now that his wife has fallen from her 
exalted pedestal, he refuses to believe any member 
of her sex can be virtuous. He bitterly exclaims 
that all women are deceivers, and that Imogen's 
modesty, which was one of her chief charms, was 
mere pretence, since she so readily accepted a stran- 
ger's advances. The curtain falls while he tragically 
avers all man's faults are due to women! 



Cymheline 9 

Act III. The third act opens In a hall in the 
palace, where all is ready for the ambassador's re- 
ception, and where Cymbeline enters with his train. 
When haughtily summoned to speak, the ambassador 
states that having conquered Britain, Caesar exacted 
a tribute, which after being paid for some time, has 
now been refused. Before Cymbeline can answer, 
the Queen exclaims the tribute will never again be 
paid, her son insolently adding that although 
granted to Caesar, it will be tendered to no one else. 
Then, encouraged by a further speech from his 
mother, depicting island Britain's inaccessibility, 
Cloten blusters on, until the King seizes his chance 
to deliver his answer. Stating that previous to 
Caesar's coming all Britons were free, Cymbeline 
firmly refuses all tribute, and although the ambas- 
sador declares war, shows no fear, for, having taken 
lessons in warfare from Caesar, he knows something 
about the art. Besides, he is encouraged by re- 
ports that other nations are rebelling, which will 
prevent Rome's forces being turned exclusively upon 
Britain ; so after courteously inviting the ambassador 
to tarry as long as he likes, Cymbeline withdraws, 
while his noisy step-son boastfully challenges Rome. 

The curtain next rises on a room in the palace, 
where Pisanio is perusing a letter just received from 
Posthumus, accusing his wife of yielding to lachimo's 
suit, and charging his servant to punish this infidel- 
ity. Horrified by the contents of this letter, — for he 
does not believe the accusation it contains, — Pisanio 
Is still poring over it when his mistress comes to 
ask what he Is doing? On discovering he has 
received recent tidings from her lord, Imogen begs 



10 Cymbeline 

for news, and gladly peruses the missive Pisanio 
hands her, wherein Posthumus bids her meet him 
at a neighbouring seaport, so they can flee to- 
gether from Britain. So anxious is Imogen to join 
her husband, that she eagerly inquires how this port 
can be reached, vowing she can double the distance 
most people travel in a day, such is her impatience 
to join her beloved. Then, mistress and man dis- 
cuss ways and means, and decide that Imogen, by 
pretending illness, keep her room, escaping thence 
undetected to accompany Pisanio to the port. 

We next behold a mountainous region of Wales, 
near the mouth of a cavern, from whence the out- 
law Belarius emerges, and summons his two young 
companions to worship the sun as it rises over their 
desert world. Both handsome youths having paid 
their devotions to the god of light, Belarius bids 
them hasten to the highlands to hunt, while he 
ranges through the lowlands in quest of game. The 
youths, who eagerly drink in all he says, openly 
wonder why he never sends them into the great 
world from whence he came, one of them express- 
ing regret they should grow up in ignorance of 
it, while the other vows they will have nothing to 
talk about in old age if they do not seek adven- 
tures now. Thereupon Belarius exclaims they are 
fortunate in dwelling far away from mankind, as 
bitter experiences await one in the world. When 
the lads inquire how he forfeited the King's love 
without doing wrong, Belarius relates that perjurers 
swore he was a confederate of the Romans, and thus 
caused his banishment. The remembrance of this 
disgrace is still so bitter, that he refuses to say any- 



Cymheltne 1 1 

thing more, and merely repeats his orders for the 
hunt, promising the slayer of a deer shall be master 
of their feast. 

The young huntsmen having left, Belarius mur- 
murs they little suspect they are Cymbeline's sons, 
stolen from the nursery in revenge for royal injus- 
tice. He admits, however, that he has learned to 
love both Princes as dearly as if they vv^ere really his 
own offspring. Every token they give of high de- 
scent and martial courage affords him keenest pleas- 
ure, and when he hears them in the distance raising 
the game, he expresses remorse that he and their 
nurse deprived Cymbeline of such worthy lads. 

We next behold the road to the harbour, whither 
Imogen is travelling with Pisanio to join her hus- 
band. After dismounting and walking a short dis- 
tance in the direction where she expects to find 
Posthumus, Imogen starts at the tragic expression on 
her servant's face. As he does not reply to her 
anxious inquiries, she concludes he has bad tidings 
to impart, whereupon he reluctantly exhibits his 
master's letter, bidding him kill his faithless wife! 
Having perused the fatal missive, Imogen sinks 
down, stricken by the cruel words, while PIsanIo ex- 
claims no weapon will be needed to kill her, since 
such a slander Is powerful enough to do so unaided. 

When he finally succeeds In reviving his mistress, 
her first words reveal her horror at Posthumus's ac- 
cusation, for she touchingly wonders whether It is 
faithless to think Incessantly of one's husband and 
ardently desire his presence? She then calls Pisanio 
to witness that she has ever been true, and vows 
Posthumus must have grown weary of her, since he 



1 2 Cymbeline 

resorts to so mean a subterfuge to get rid of her. 
When the servant pities her, she avers many faith- 
ful wives have suffered in this way; but, having no 
desire to live without her husband's love, bids 
Pisanio execute his master's orders, offering to draw 
his sword from its scabbard so he can more easily 
plunge it into her empty heart! 

Horrified at the thought of such a crime, Pisanio 
throws away his weapon, swearing he will never 
touch her; and Imogen bursts into tears, for al- 
though unable to take her own life, she longs to be 
relieved of existence. She therefore bares her breast 
to receive Pisanio's blows and when he refuses to 
strike, reproaches him for bringing her away from 
home. When Pisanio confesses he did so for fear 
someone else would carry out Posthumus's cruel 
orders, she sorrowfully asks what she is to do? 
Then he suggests that she let him send his master 
the bloody token he requires to prove she is dead, 
and disappear, adding that she will best escape Clo- 
ten's pursuit by donning the costume of a page and 
entering the service of the Roman ambassador. As 
inducement, Pisanio further suggests that his master 
will doubtless join the Roman host, and that hence 
she will be near Posthumus when he lands. This 
prospect proves enticing enough to make Imogen ac- 
cept the costume he has prepared, sadly promising 
to assume the saucy demeanour which will prove her 
best safeguard in the midst of the Roman army. 
Then, afraid lest his absence be noted at court, 
Pisanio hastens away, leaving with Imogen the 
Queen's box, and telling her it contains a priceless 
cordial. The curtain falls upon the Princess, left 



Cymheline 13 

alone in the wilderness to assume the garb of a page 
and the name of Fidele. 

We are next transported to the palace, where 
Cymheline is dismissing the ambassador, and an- 
nouncing his people have definitely shaken oH the 
Roman yoke. After expressing regret at having no 
better report to carry home, the Roman departs with 
an escort detailed to see him safely across the Severn. 
The ambassador gone, the Queen and her son rejoice 
over Cymbeline's decision, although he reminds them 
the British must prepare for war, as the Romans, 
in anticipation of such a decision, have legions in 
Gaul ready to cross the Channel. Then he inquires 
why Imogen has not appeared, and bids a servant 
summon her. 

The Queen explains that since Posthumus's de- 
parture, the Princess has led a most retired life ; and 
is just begging the King to be lenient, when the 
attendants return without the Princess. Cymheline, 
amazed to learn no reply was received to their loud 
summons, hastens out to discover what this silence 
means, while the Queen and her son comment that 
neither Pisanio nor Imogen have been visible for the 
past two days. While Cloten hurries off to seek the 
missing servant, his mother wonders whether her 
drug has already proved efficacious? But although 
she could thus account for Pisanio's absence, that of 
Imogen is unaccountable, although she suspects her 
of having committed suicide, or of having followed 
her husband. However this may be, the Queen joy- 
fully decides that the Princess out of the way, she 
will easily be able to persuade the King to place her 
son on the throne. 



14 Cymbeline 

Just then Cloten returns, announcing Imogen's 
flight, and the King's consequent anger. When the 
Queen has gone to soothe the royal wrath, Cloten 
swears to forget his former love for Imogen, and 
remember only his hatred. Seeing Pisanio enter at 
that moment, he hotly questions him, but, getting no 
Information, threatens to kill him unless he speaks. 
Then only, Pisanio produces the letter to Imogen, 
which Cloten recognises as penned by Posthumus, 
and hence considers a sure clue to her present where- 
abouts. But, while he expresses a determination to 
pursue her, the servant softly rejoices that Imogen 
is too far away to be overtaken, and adds that he 
must send Posthumus word his wife is dead. 

Having devised a plan to efifect his revenge, Clo- 
ten summons Pisanio to serve him or forfeit his 
life. Under such circumstances the servant meekly 
obeys when told to fetch some of Posthumus's gar- 
ments. During his absence, Cloten exclaims that 
after donning these clothes he will pursue the fugi- 
tives to the harbour, and that after slaying Posthu- 
mus, and defiling his wife, he will drive the dis- 
graced Imogen home. As soon as the servant re- 
appears with the suit, Cloten eagerly Inquires how 
long the Princess has been gone, and hastens ofiE to 
dress, while Pisanio openly rejoices because he will 
find neither of the victims he seeks. 

The curtain next rises upon the cave of Belarius, 
whither Imogen wearily drags herself, exclaiming 
'a man's life is a tedious one,' for she has wandered 
two days In the mountains, unable to find her way to 
the harbour, although Pisanio pointed It out from 
the top of the hill. In her grief at her husband's 



Cymbeline 15 

cruelty, Imogen begins to fear lest PIsanio, too, has 
played her false. So, trembling at every noise, she 
creeps to the opening of the cave where she hopes 
to find food to sustain her, assuming a martial air 
her feelings belie, in hopes of intimidating its rustic 
occupants. 

She has scarcely vanished in the cave, when the 
huntsmen return, Belarius praising one youth for 
having killed a deer, and stating he and the other 
lad will dress the meat as soon as possible. Still, 
feeling hungry now, he hastens to the cave to get 
some food already prepared. It is while stooping 
to enter, that he starts back affrighted, exclaiming 
were not the creature within eating their victuals, 
he would deem it a fairy! 

Peeping in curiously, both young men are charmed 
by the beauty and grace of Fidele, whom, judging 
from his size and apparel, they take for a lad some- 
what younger than themselves. Creeping out, 
Fidele now piteously implores the three men to 
spare him, vowing he intended to pay for the food 
eaten. Then, seeing the money he proffers rejected, 
he fancies his hosts angry, and tries to appease them 
by stating he would have died had he not eaten. 

In answer to questions, he next explains he is on 
his way to the harbour, and when cordially invited 
to remain and partake of the venison, seems strangely 
moved by the kindness of the young men, toward 
whom he feels as toward the brothers lost In early 
youth. Seeing tears in the page's eyes, the generous 
woodsmen offer him a home, so Fidele decides to be- 
come their companion and leaves the stage with them 
to prepare dinner. 



1 6 Cymbeline 

The next scene is on a Roman square, where 
senators and tribunes are discussing a call for volun- 
teers to fight the Britons. As soon as it becomes 
known that the ambassador is in command, many 
express readiness to enlist, ere the curtain falls. 

Act IV. The fourth act opens near the cave 
of Belarius, whither Cloten has made his way in 
pursuit of Imogen, dressed in the garments of Pos- 
thumus, which he flatters himself he becomes. Ex- 
pecting soon to come across the fugitive, he is gloat- 
ing over his evil intentions, for he feels confident 
that however cruel he proves to Imogen, his mother 
will obtain pardon from the King. A moment af- 
ter Cloten passes out of sight, Belarius appears, bid- 
ding Fidele remain in the cave, since he is not well 
enough to accompany them. Although both youths 
express solicitude for the page's comfort, call him 
brother, and offer to stay with him, Fidele urges 
them to pursue their usual vocations. They there- 
fore depart, wondering that they should feel more 
devoted to a lad whom they have known so short a 
time, than to their father, — remarks which prove to 
Belarius they are dimly conscious they are not re- 
lated. 

Just before they leave the scene, Fidele decides to 
try the effect of Pisanio's cordial, and immediately 
after partaking of it creeps back into the cave. He 
has no sooner vanished than his companions com- 
ment upon his noble bearing, his angelic voice, his 
skill In cookery, and the patience he shows, although 
he Is plainly labouring under some great grief. 
They are just about to leave, when Cloten re- 
appears, looking for his victims and muttering some- 



Cymbeline 17 

thing about runaways. Fancying he is being pur- 
sued, Belarius peers out between the bushes, and 
recognising Cloten, bids one of the youths help 
him head off this assailant's suite while the other 
meets this foe. It is one of the lads, therefore, 
whom Cloten taunts as an outlaw, and who leaves 
the stage with him, fighting. 

Having ascertained that no troops follow Cloten, 
Belarius and the other lad soon return, and are re- 
lieved to see their companion reappear with his 
opponent's head. While Belarius expresses dread 
lest harm may be brewing, the youth admits it is 
likely, since Cloten was threatening to place their 
heads on the gates of London ! The three outlaws 
now decide not to hunt, and while one youth goes o£E 
to cast his victim's head in the stream, the other 
talks to Belarius. After a time, however, he steals 
ofE to inquire how Fidele is feeling, while the old 
man exclaims his foster sons show their royal origin 
by tenderness to the weak, and bravery toward the 
strong. 

Having disposed of Cloten's head, the elder prince 
notices, on his return, sounds from an aeolian harp 
which has been mute since the death of Belarius's 
wife. Before he can ascertain the meaning of this 
miracle, his brother comes out of the cave, bearing 
the apparently lifeless body of Fidele, and mourn- 
fully crying, 'the bird is dead!' Both youths and 
their aged companion now bewail the early death 
of so rare a boy, the younger Prince describing how 
he found the page lying on the ground, and how, 
deeming him asleep, he crept about noiselessly, only 
to discover no sound would ever waken him again! 



1 8 Cymheline 

As Fidele is dead, the brothers decide to bury him 
in the forest, covering his corpse daily with fresh 
flowers, and using the same funeral rites as for their 
foster-mother, although speaking instead of singing 
the words, since their voices are no longer boyish 
enough to carry a tune. Sorrow over the dead page 
makes them forget the murder of Cloten, until Be- 
larius reminds them another corpse must be buried, 
thereupon they carelessly bid him bring it after 
them. 

Both princes now transport Fidele to a lovely 
spot in the forest, where, after turning his head 
toward the east, they recite a funeral hymn. It is 
barely finished when Belarius deposits the headless 
body of Cloten near that of the page, and the lads 
hasten off in quest of dainty flowers to strew over 
the corpse of the lovely boy they have learned to 
love so dearly. 

Shortly after they have gone, Imogen rouses from 
her trance, under an impression of intense fatigue. 
Still half dazed by her drugged sleep, she gazes 
around her, and is startled to behold a headless 
trunk by her side. Imagining this a delusion, she 
closes her eyes, murmuring she thought she had 
been living in a cave with honest men, whom she 
served. Then, reopening her eyes, and still con- 
fronted by the same corpse, she creeps toward it, 
only to discover it is wrapped in her husband's gar- 
ments! She therefore despairingly concludes Pos- 
thumus has been slain by Pisanio, who also tried 
to poison her, and falls over the headless trunk in 
a dead faint. 

A few moments later, the Roman ambassador ap- 




A. Liezeri' Mayer 



lach. " O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her ! " 
-Cymbeline. Act 2, Scene 2. 



Cymbeline 19 

pears with his escort, talking over news just received, 
and consulting a soothsayer, who has observed omens 
of good luck. The ambassador, stumbling over Clo- 
ten's corpse, discovers Fidele, who, on recovering his 
senses, brokenly relates his master was slain by out- 
laws, and that his like will never be seen again. 
Touched by his sorrow, the ambassador offers to 
befriend him, — a proposal Fidele gratefully accepts, 
after obtaining permission to bury his master, — the 
Roman meantime doing his best to comfort him by 
kindly assuring him 'some falls are means the hap- 
pier to arise.' 

The curtain next rises in the palace, where Cym- 
beline is inquiring for the Queen, whose serious ill- 
ness he attributes solely to the disappearance of her 
son. After commenting upon the sorrows which 
have visited him of late, Cymbeline inquires whether 
Pisanio has discovered any trace of Imogen, ac- 
quitting him of connivance in her escape only when 
creditably informed he was seen in the palace the 
day she disappeared. While one of the lords present 
reports they are searching for Cloten, another an- 
nounces the Roman legions have landed, and a battle 
is imminent. Deprived of the ever ready counsels 
of the Queen and her son, Cymbeline now begs the 
advice of his courtiers, who bid him move forward 
without delay, his troops being ready and eager to 
defeat the Romans. 

All having left the scene, Pisanio marvels that 
no news has come from Posthumus, that Imogen 
has not notified him of her safety, and that Cloten 
should have disappeared. Still, he rejoices to think 
the coming war may prove an occasion to serve his 



20 Cymbeline 

country, and philosophically concludes 'fortune 
brings in some boats that are not steer'd.' 

We now return to the space before the cave, 
where the princes exult at the noise of warfare in 
the neighbourhood and the prospect of taking an 
active part in the fray. As true-born Britons, they 
mean to join Cymbeline's forces, where, owing to his 
changed appearance, Belarius fancies he will not be 
recognised. He therefore approves of the youth's 
noble ardour, exclaiming, as they pass off the scene, 
*the time seems long; their blood thinks scorn, till 
it fly out and show them princes born.' 

Act V. The fifth act opens near the Roman 
camp in Britain, where Posthumus is brooding over 
a bloody token, and bitterly regretting Imogen's 
death. He murmurs that since she proved faithless, 
no woman can ever have been loyal, humbly con- 
fessing had his own shortcomings been treated with 
the severity he meted out, he would never have 
lived to perpetrate this crime. But, although he has 
returned to Britain with the Roman forces, he in- 
tends to fight only for his country, casting off his 
Roman garb when the fray begins so as to join his 
countrymen as a nameless peasant. 

Posthumus has barely left the scene, when the 
battle breaks out, and Romans rush madly to and 
fro across the stage. Finally lachimo and Pos- 
thumus appear, fighting fiercely without recognising 
each other. Disarming this foe, after a brief en- 
counter, Posthumus rushes off in quest of the death 
he is vainly seeking, while, left alone on the battle- 
field, lachimo concludes a guilty conscience robs him 
of strength and courage, ere he limps off the scene. 



Cymheline 1 1 

The tide of battle now turns, for Cymbeline is 
seized by the Romans, who are leading him off in 
triumph, when checked by Belarius, the two princes 
and Posthumus, who bravely rescue their monarch. 
Not only do these four hold the whole Roman army 
at bay, but capture the ambassador, who, seeing no 
hope of escape, bids his page flee lest he be slain in 
the melee! 

Victory thus assured, Posthumus hastens away, 
only to meet a British nobleman, overcome with re- 
morse at having fled. While relating Cymbeline's 
rescue, Posthumus speaks so bitterly, that his inter- 
locutor pities him ere he departs. Left alone once 
more, Posthumus decides since death shuns him in 
battle, to resume Roman apparel, and be slain as 
prisoner of war. He has just redonned Roman at- 
tire, when the Britons rush in, elated with their 
victory, and exclaiming that angels fought for their 
King! Their one regret is not to find any trace 
of the British peasant who so valiantly assisted the 
two brave youths, the King having bidden them seek 
him even among the dead. It is while doing so, 
that, by the King's command, they add Posthumus 
to the prisoners to be sacrificed. 

The rising curtain next reveals the British prison, 
into which Posthumus is thrust, after the jailors 
have made sure he cannot escape. Solitude seems 
welcome, and Posthumus calls upon death soon to 
end his woes, for conscience leaves him no rest. Be- 
sides, he hopes by the sacrifice of his own life to 
atone for the murder of his wife. It is with Imo- 
gen's name upon his lips, therefore, that he falls 
asleep, only to be visited in slumber by a vision of 



22 Cymbeline 

the father, mother and brothers he never knew. 
But, while all four approve of his services to his 
country, they bewail his trials, and passionately im- 
plore Jupiter's aid. In answer to this invocation, 
the Thunderer appears, and while the ghosts kneel 
before him, promises to protect Posthumus, on whose 
breast he bids them place a tablet whereon is in- 
scribed an Olympian decree. Then, Jupiter having 
again vanished heavenward, the ghosts obey ere they 
too disappear; and when Posthumus awakes, he 
discovers with surprise an oracle on his bosom. Far 
too mysterious to be understood, he decides to keep 
it for sentiment's sake, and has barely secreted it 
when the jailors return to inquire whether he is 
ready to die? Then, seeing his indifference to his 
fate, they crack rough jokes with him, until a mes- 
senger summons all prisoners into the King's pres- 
ence. While the rest depart, one jailor comments 
that never before did he see prisoner so indifferent 
to life! 

We now behold the royal tent, where, supported 
on either side by the youths who rescued him, Cym- 
beline expresses regret not to have found the brave 
peasant who seconded them so bravely. Then he 
promises rich rewards to the youths, whom he is 
so glad to discover of gentle birth, that he immedi- 
ately knights them. This ceremony concluded, the 
King questions the entering physician, who gravely 
announces the Queen is dead. He adds that be- 
fore breathing her last, she confessed never to have 
loved her husband, and having planned to poison 
him and his daughter, so as to place her son upon 
the throne. These terrible revelations, — confirmed 



Cymheline 23 

by the Queen's women, — fill Cymbeline's heart with 
tempestuous emotions, chief among which is anxiety 
for Imogen, concerning whom he has been so sorely 
deceived. 

The entrance of the Roman prisoners, led by the 
ambassadors, now reminds Cymheline this is no time 
for private griefs; so, after proudly announcing no 
further mention will be made of tribute, he decrees 
the Romans shall suffer the treatment which they 
would have aw^arded him had he been defeated. 
The ambassador, — a Roman of the old school, — 
stoically accepts this sentence, for 'a Roman with a 
Roman's heart can suffer,' but begs that his page, 
a Briton born, may be spared. 

His intercession directs the King's glance to Fidele, 
in whose countenance he discovers somehing vaguely 
familiar, although he does not doubt he is a lad. 
Because of this resemblance, Cymheline grants Fidele 
life and any boon he cares to ask, whereupon the 
Roman confidently expects his page to intercede in 
his behalf. Although evidently anxious to save him, 
this youth hesitates to speak until the King draws 
him aside. While they converse, the ambassador 
grieves to be thus openly scorned by one whose love 
he thought he had won; the youths wonderingly 
comment on the page's likeness to the lad they loved 
and buried; and Pisanio recognises the Princess, for 
whom he procured her present disguise. 

The whispered conferences over, Cymheline calls 
lachimo out of the ranks, and bids him confront 
Fidele, who wishes to make a request. To the 
amazement of all present, the page now demands an 
explanation of the manner in which lachimo ob- 



24 Cymheline 

talned his ring. After some demur, lachimo re- 
morsefully confesses that his ring was won by treach- 
ery from Posthumus; a statement which so whets 
Cymbeline's curiosity, that he cross-questions his 
prisoner, until he wrings from him the story of the 
bet, a description of his journey, and*an admission 
that the proofs he furnished of Imogen's infidelity 
were false. Unable to control himself any longer, 
Posthumus now hotly reviles lachimo, and so de- 
spairingly accuses himself of having slain Imogen, 
that Fidele springs forward to comfort him, only 
to be roughly flung back, for Posthumus fancies the 
strange page is mocking his grief. 

Seeing Fidele fall, Pisanio catches him, exclaiming 
indignantly that, Posthumus 'ne'er kill'd Imogen 
till now!' a revelation of the page's identity which 
overcomes both Cymbeline and Posthumus, who 
stand by dazed with joy, while Pisanio revives his 
mistress. On opening her eyes, Imogen denounces 
Pisanio as a poisoner, an accusation he truthfully 
denies, pleading that the Queen gave him the cordial 
to which she refers. When Imogen declares it pois- 
oned her, the physician testifies it was merely a 
sleeping potion, which, mistrusting the Queen's mo- 
tives, he gave her instead of poison. This explana- 
tion also proves to the two lads that they really be- 
hold the page whom they deemed dead. 

Meantime, Imogen, clasped to the heart of her 
overjoyed husband, leaves his arms only to kneel 
before Cymbeline, who, after welcoming her ten- 
derly, sadly informs her the Queen is dead, and 
Cloten missing! 

Belarius, who has heard all, exclaims that the 



Cymbeline 25 

love, binding together the three young people who 
dwelt in his cave, was natural, while Pisanio reveals 
how Cloten set out to seek revenge. He adds, 
however, that he does not know what has become of 
the Prince, whereupon one of the youths confesses 
how he cut off Cloten's head, only to be instantly 
condemned therefor to death. 

At Pisanio's mention of her husband's clothes, 
Imogen understands her mistake, but ere she can 
enlighten Cymbeline, Belarius forbids hands to be 
laid on his supposed son. Then, falling at Cym- 
beline's feet, he asks payment for the nursing and 
education of his offspring, a demand which necessi- 
tates an explanation. Although overjoyed to re- 
cover his sons, Cymbeline refuses to accept them 
without proof of their identity, and when it is fully 
established, gravely pities Imogen for losing her 
realm. No such feeling, however, troubles the 
Princess, who gladly welcomes the brothers whom 
she has learned to love, and tells all present how 
kind they proved to a wandering page. 

After pardoning and reinstating Belarius, freeing 
the ambassador, and thanking Posthumus — ^who con- 
fesses he was the British peasant, — Cymbeline is 
about to proceed to the punishment of lachimo when 
Posthumus intercedes in his behalf. Next the tablet 
left on his breast in prison, is shown to a sooth- 
sayer, who interprets the oracle in a way that af- 
fords such general satisfaction, that Cymbeline vol- 
unteers to continue the tribute, saying he fully in- 
tended doing so until dissuaded by his wicked Queen. 
The British and Roman ensigns are therefore erected 
on the stage, side by side, amid general acclamations, 



2 6 Cymheline 

while all unite in giving thanks for the happy out- 
come of warfare and misunderstandings.* 

* In 'Stories of Shakespeare's Tragedies' will be found 
the plays of 'King Lear' and of 'Macbeth,' which come, 
chronologically, between 'Cymbeline' and 'King John' but 
which are classed among the greatest of the poet's trag- 
edies. 



THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING JOHN 

Act I. The first act opens in the palace of 
King John, where he is giving an audience to the 
French ambassador. Summoned to deliver his mes- 
sage, this emissary, after an insulting mention of 
'borrowed majesty,' calls upon King John of Eng- 
land to surrender to Arthur Plantagenet, son of his 
elder brother Geffrey, all England, Ireland, and the 
English possessions in France. When John 
haughtily inquires what King Philip of France will 
do in case he refuse, the ambassador rejoins by a 
formal declaration of war, to which John retorts 
'war for war,' warning the ambassador he will be 
in France almost before his arrival can be announced. 

The French ambassador having left under safe- 
conduct, Elinor, mother of King John, exclaims she 
was right in predicting Constance would urge France 
to war for her son's rights, and reminds John how 
all could have been settled amicably had he listened 
to her. Just as John asserts that possession and 
right are both on his side, — to which his mother 
does not agree, — the announcement is made that ^a 
strange controversy awaits royal decision. 

Bidding the contestants appear, John mutters that 
his abbeys and priories will have to bear the expense 
of the coming expedition to France, ere the two men 
are ushered in. On questioning them, the King 
learns one is Robert Faulconbridge, son of a soldier, 
knighted by his brother Richard, and the other, 
Philip, illegitimate son of the same knight, who 
27 



28 Life and Death of King John 

claims inheritance. While both young men are sure 
they descend from the same mother, Philip the elder, 
expresses doubts in regard to his father, for which 
Elinor reproves him. Only when he exclaims, how- 
ever, that he is thankful not to resemble Sir Roger, 
does Elinor notice his strong resemblance to her son 
Richard, to which she calls John's attention. 

Both brothers now begin to plead their cause be- 
fore the King, interrupting and contradicting one 
another, the younger claiming how during his 
father's absence, Richard induced his mother to 
break her marriage vows. He adds, that aware of 
her infidelity, the father left all he had to him, 
cutting off the elder entirely, although John says the 
law entitles him to a share of Sir Robert's estate, 
since he was born in wedlock. Thereupon Robert 
asks whether his father had no right to dispose of his 
property as he pleased, while Elinor questions 
whether Philip would rather be considered the son 
of Richard Lionheart and forfeit all claim to Faul- 
conbridge, or vice-versa. Thus cornered, Philip 
confesses he would not resemble his brother or Sir 
Robert for anything in the world, and when Elinor 
invites him to forsake all and follow her to France, 
— where he can win honors in the war, — ^he joyfully 
hands over the disputed estates to his brother, and 
swears he will follow Elinor to the death! Then 
King John knights Philip, who magnanimously 
shakes hands with his 'brother by the mother's 
side,' thus displaying so much of Richard's spirit, 
that Elinor and John acknowledge him as their kin. 

All leaving the stage save the new knight, he 
merrily congratulates himself upon the airs he can 



Life and Death of King John 29 

now assume, and proposes to fit himself for knightly 
society by secret practice and by close observation. 
His soliloquy is interrupted by the entrance of his 
mother, Lady Faulconbridge, who chides him for 
speaking disrespectfully of Sir Robert. But, after 
dismissing her attendant, Philip bluntly informs her 
that, knowing Sir Robert is not his father, he has 
renounced all claims to the Faulconbridge estates. 
After some demur, his mother confesses his sur- 
mises have been correct, and that King Richard is 
indeed his father, whereupon he exclaims, 'Ay, my 
mother, with all my heart I thank thee for my 
father ! Who lives and dares but say thou didst not 
well when I was got, I'll send his soul to hell.* 
This understanding reached, Faulconbridge leads his 
mother out to introduce her at court, promising to 
champion her on every occasion. 

Act II. The second act opens in France, before 
the city of Angiers (Angers), where Austria's forces 
are drawn up on one side, and the French on the 
other. Stepping forward, the Dauphin greets 'Aus- 
tria,' telling young Arthur and his mother Con- 
stance, that although once a foe of Richard, Austria 
is now trying to make amends by helping the right- 
ful heir to his throne. At his request, Arthur em- 
braces this former family foe, freely forgiving him 
the past, and bespeaking his aid for the future. After 
the Duke of Austria has pledged himself with a kiss 
never to abandon Arthur's cause until he has won his 
rights to England, — 'that white-faced shore, whose 
foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides and coops 
from other lands her islanders,' — Constance effu- 
sively promises him a 'mother's thanks, a widow's 



30 Life and Death of King John 

thanks,' ere King Philip in his turn pledges himself 
to lay his royal bones before Angiers or compel It to 
recognise Arthur. 

Constance Is just Imploring these champions of 
her son's rights to await the ambassador's return, — 
with, perchance, favourable news from England, — 
when he appears, bidding French and Austrlans 
hasten to meet the English, who follow close on 
his heels. This news Is Immediately confirmed by 
drum-beats, announcing the approach of the foe, 
which fact surprises the French and Austrian leaders, 
although they are ready to welcome them, for 
'courage mounteth with occasion.' 

King John now marches on the stage escorted by 
his mother, suite, and army, calling down peace 
upon France provided she yield to his demands, but 
woe should she resist. His proud address is an- 
swered In kind by King Philip of France, who claims 
Arthur Is the rightful possessor of England, and bids 
John recognise him as king. Irritated by this de- 
mand, John haughtily demands Philip's authority 
for this claim, only to receive reply that It is made 
In the name of the Defender of Orphans. When 
John thereupon taunts Philip for usurping authority, 
he Is charged with that crime himself, ere Elinor 
and Constance, joining In the quarrel, begin to re- 
vile one another hotly, for theirs Is a feud of long- 
standing. 

In the midst of this quarrel, Elinor vows Arthur 
is not Geffrey's legitimate son, whereupon Constance 
indignantly rebukes her, and turning to the lad ex- 
claims his grandmother is trying to cast shame upon 
him. The quarrel between the women becomes so 



Life and Death of King John 31 

virulent that the Duke of Austria calls for peace, 
only to be sneered at by the insolent Faulconbridge, 
who openly defies him, although Blanch, niece of 
John, who is also present, evidently admires him. 

Finally, the French monarch silences the women 
and disputing nobles, and turning once more to 
John summons him to surrender the lands he holds 
to Arthur. After hotly retorting, 'my life as soon: 
I do defy thee, France,' John invites young Ar- 
thur to join him, promising to give him more than 
France can ever win by force. But, when Elinor 
tries to coax her grandson to side with them, Con- 
stance bitterly suggests his grandmother will give 
him 'a plum, a cherry, and a fig' in exchange for a 
kingdom, and by her jibes causes the gentle prince 
to wail he would rather be dead, than the cause of 
'this coil that's made for me.' While Elinor at- 
tributes this cry to shame for his mother's conduct, 
Constance deems it is occasioned by his grand- 
mother's injustice, which diverging opinions re- 
kindle the quarrel, until both monarchs interfere 
to silence them. 

Trumpet blasts summoning a deputation from An- 
glers, end this vituperation, so a citizen, acting as 
spokesman, demands why they have been summoned 
to their walls, only to hear both kings claim they 
have come hither to seek aid to defend the rights 
of England's King. Addressing the deputation 
first. King John accuses France of trying to awe 
them into subjection, whereupon King Philip urges 
them to remain faithful to their rightful sovereign, 
adding the threat that should they refuse to obey 
Arthur, he will compel them to do so. DIplo- 



32 Life and Death of King John 

matically replying they are the King of England's 
faithful subjects, the spokesman refuses to decide 
which is the rightful claimant to England's crown, 
and vows Angiers' gates shall remain closed until 
the dispute has been duly settled. 

When King John loudly asserts he Is the only 
rightful bearer of the English crown — a statement 
in which he is supported by his nephew Faulcon- 
brldge, — the French King urges the citizens not to 
believe him. Thus starts a new dispute, at the 
end of which it is decided the question shall be 
settled by the force of arms, so King Philip brings 
the momentous interview to a close with the words: 
*God and our right T 

Shortly after, the French herald, In full panoply, 
formally summons Angiers to open its gates to 
Arthur, only to be immediately followed by an Eng- 
lish herald, in similar array, demanding admittance 
for John. To these double summons the men of 
Angiers respectfully reply they are merely waiting 
to know which Is their lawful sovereign, before they 
welcome their king. Both monarchs now enter the 
battle-field with their respective forces, John sar- 
castically demanding whether France has blood to 
squander, only to receive as rejoinder from Philip 
that he will defeat him or die. Impatient to fight, 
Faulconbrldge inquires why they stop to parley, 
whereupon both kings, raising their voices, bid 
Angiers state with which party It sides, only to 
receive the same reply that It is loyal to the King 
of England. This diplomacy enrages Faulcon- 
brldge, who, declaring they are flouting both kings, 
suggests the besiegers join forces to subdue the 



Life and Death of King John 33 

insolent rebels, deciding the matter of rightful own- 
ership afterwards. This proposal suits both mon- 
archs, who immediately agree upon the measures to 
be taken, arranging that the French, English, and 
Austrians shall attack Angiers from different points. 

Just as they are about to begin operations, the 
citizens beg for a hearing, and propose in their 
turn that John's niece, Lady Blanch, be married to 
the Dauphin, for whom she would make an ideal 
wife, vowing 'this union shall do more than bat- 
tery can,' since they will then fling open their gates 
to both kings. This proposal fails to please Faul- 
conbridge, who longs for the fray; but Elinor urges 
John to accept it, which, after Philip calls upon him 
to speak first, he formally does, stating he will give 
his niece as dowry all his lands in France, save the 
town of Angiers. The Dauphin, after expressing 
eagerness to conclude this match, whispers to Blanch, 
who in turn signifies maidenly consent. The mar- 
riage portion John has promised to bestow upon 
his niece, proves so enticing to Philip, that he bids 
the young couple join hands, while the Duke of 
Austria suggests their betrothal be sealed with a 
kiss. 

All preliminaries thus settled, King Philip calls 
upon Angiers to throw open its gates, so the mar- 
riage of the Dauphin and Lady Blanch can be cele- 
brated in St. Mary's chapel, concluding his speech 
by stating his satisfaction that Arthur and Constance 
have retired, as the latter would surely object to 
this arrangement. Then, to satisfy the Dauphin, 
and French King, who ruefully aver Constance has 
just cause for displeasure, John proposes to make 



34 Life and Death of King John 

Arthur Duke of Brittany, and bids a messenger in- 
vite him and his mother to the wedding. 

All now leave the scene save Faulconbridge, who 
shrewdly comments John has forfeited a small part 
of his possessions to prevent Arthur from securing 
the whole, while the King of France has allowed the 
bribe of a rich alliance for his son to turn him aside 
from his avowed purpose to uphold the right. He 
jocosely adds that, as yet, no one has tried to bribe 
him, but that when the attempt is made, he will 
immediately yield, because, 'since kings break faith 
upon commodity gain, be my lord, for I will wor- 
ship thee.' 

Act hi. The third act opens in the tent of the 
French King, where Constance, having just heard 
of the royal marriage, exclaims it cannot be true, 
and threatens to have the Earl of Salisbury punished 
for trying to deceive her. She pitifully adds that 
although a widow and prone to fear, she will for- 
give all, provided he admits he has been jesting, and 
ceases to cast pitiful glances upon her son. Un- 
able to obey, Salisbury compassionately reiterates he 
has told the truth, whereupon Constance wails she 
and her son have been betrayed ! In her grief, she 
bids Salisbury begone, and expresses sorrow when 
her son implores her to be resigned, saying that 
were he some monster, she might allow him to be 
deprived of his rights, but that, seeing his perfec- 
tions, she cannot endure his being set aside. Before 
leaving, Salisbury again reminds her she is expected 
to join both kings, whereupon she vows she will be 
proud in her grief, and seats herself upon the 
ground, declaring kings will have to do homage to 



Life and Death of King John 35 

her, on her throne of sorrows, if they wish to see 
her. 

The marriage guests now return from church, 
King Philip graciously assuring his new-made daugh- 
ter-in-law that this day shall henceforth be a fes- 
tival for France, whereupon Constance, rising in 
wrath from her lowly seat, vehemently declares it 
shall forever be accursed! When King Philip tells 
her she has no reason for anger as he will see she 
gets her rights, she accuses him of betraying her 
cause, calls wildly upon heaven to defend a widow, 
and prays that discord may soon arise between these 
perjured kings, although all present try to silence 
her. Even the Duke of Austria becomes the butt of 
her wrath and contempt, for she scornfully bids him 
don some other garb than the lion's skin on which 
he prides himself, — an insult he cannot avenge as it 
is uttered by a woman. Instead, he turns his wrath 
upon Faulconbridge, when the latter ventures to re- 
peat some of Constance's strictures on royal inter- 
ference. 

It is at this moment that the papal legate enters, 
announcing he has been sent to inquire of John, why, 
in spite of papal decrees, he refuses to permit Stephen 
Langton to exercise his ofKce as Archbishop of Can- 
terbury? In return, John denies the Pope's right 
to call him to account, and vows no Italian priest 
shall collect tithes in his realm, where he considers 
himself supreme head under God! His defiant re- 
ply smacks of heresy to King Philip, who, venturing 
to reprove him, is informed that although all other 
Christian monarchs may submit to the Pope's dicta- 
tion, he, John, will continue to oppose him, and to 



26 Life and Death of King John 

consider his friends foes. This statement causes 
the legate to pronounce John's excommunication, 
and to declare that anyone taking his life will 
deserve to be canonised for having performed a 
meritorious deed. Such a denunciation so pleases 
Constance, that she adds a few curses addressed to 
John for depriving her son of his inheritance, until 
reproved by the legate, who summons Philip to 
break all alliance with John, since he has forfeited 
the Pope's regard. Hoping for war, the Duke of 
Austria sides with the legate, while Faulconbridge 
taunts him, and King John, Constance, Lewis, and 
Blanch separately implore Philip to listen to them. 
All these entreaties merely perplex the French 
monarch, who, turning to the legate, gravely in- 
forms him that having just concluded an alliance 
with John, it seems an act of sacrilege to break it. 
He is answered, in a Jesuitical speech, that the 
Church comes first, and can release from all other 
vows. While his son and the Duke of Austria 
urge him to obey the legate's summons, Faulcon- 
bridge and Blanch demur, the latter begging husband 
and father-in-law not to take arms against her uncle. 
On hearing this, Constance falls upon her knees, 
appealing to the honour of the King and Dauphin, 
while Blanch appeals to their love. The scene 
closes with Philip's decision to break faith with 
John and obey the Church, — thereby winning the ap- 
proval of the legate, his son, and Constance, but 
incurring the scathing contempt of John, Elinor, 
and Faulconbridge. Meanwhile poor Blanch sadly 
wonders with which party she shall side, her rela- 
tives and husband now being opposed, and sadly 



Life and Death of King John 37 

yields when the Dauphin reminds her her first duty 
is to remain with him. Then, King John, turning 
to Faulconbridge, bids him summon his army, and 
defies King Phih'p, who boldly answers his chal- 
lenge ere he leaves. 

The next scene is played on the plain near An- 
giers, where the battle is raging, and Faulconbridge 
is seen bearing in triumph the Duke of Austria's 
head. A moment later, King John appears with his 
nephew Arthur, whom he has taken prisoner, and 
now intrusts to the keeping of Hubert, vowing he 
must hasten back to rescue his mother, who is sorely 
pressed in her tent. Thereupon Faulconbridge ad- 
mits he has already delivered Elinor, and adds, 
Very little pains will bring this labour to a happy 
end.' 

In the next scene the tide of battle sweeps to and 
fro across the stage, and John is heard informing 
Elinor and Arthur that they are to remain behind 
under strong guard, while Faulconbridge will 
hasten back to England, to wring from the Church 
new sinews of war, a task so congenial to his violent 
nature, that he departs vowing "bell, book, and 
candle" shall not drive him back. 

After he has gone, Elinor begins conversing with 
her grandson, while the King, after lavishing some 
flattery upon Hubert, informs him he has matters 
of importance to communicate, which he cannot re- 
veal at present. Seeing Hubert overcome by his 
condescension, John adds that if it were only mid- 
night, he would dare speak and test his loyalty, — a 
test Hubert is eager to have applied. Thereupon 
John bids him keep a watchful eye upon young 



38 Life and Death of King John 

Arthur, whom he designates as 'a serpent* in his 
way, hoping this hint will suffice for Hubert to re- 
move the impediment. But, seeing him still obtuse, 
John proceeds to express himself so plainly, that 
Hubert assures him Arthur shall not live, and 
thereby wins eager thanks from the King, who, tak- 
ing leave of mother and nephew, bids the latter fol- 
low Hubert. 

The next scene is played in the royal French tent, 
where King Philip, the legate, and Dauphin, are 
discussing the scattering of an English fleet by a 
tempest, which damage only partly offsets the loss 
of Angiers, the seizure of Arthur, and the death of 
so many brave Frenchmen. The Dauphin is de- 
scribing how cleverly the English are defending 
what they have won, when Constance enters, and 
Is pitied by King Philip for the loss of her son. 
No consolation, however, can touch this bereaved 
mother, who wildly accuses them all of treachery, 
and calls for death, in spite of all the King and 
legate can do to quiet her. When they finally In- 
form her this Is madness, she hotly denies it, vow- 
ing that were she only insane, ^he might forget her 
child or be satisfied with some puppet in his stead, 
and, as she tears her hair in her grief, Philip notes 
how grey it has turned, notwithstanding her youth. 

Appealing to the legate, the poor mother asks In 
heart-broken tones whether she will see and recog- 
nise in heaven the child who was her dearest treas- 
ure on earth, and of whom she is so cruelly bereft? 
In her grief, she eloquently describes the loveliness 
of her oflFspring, but pictures him so changed by 
sorrow and imprisonment that even In heaven his 



Life and Death of King John 39 

mother will not be able to recognise him. When 
the King and legate try to soothe her, she vows 
'grief fills the room up of my absent child,' de- 
scribing how she misses his constant company and 
pretty ways, and declares that had they ever ex- 
perienced a similar loss they would better under- 
stand the sorrow which now overwhelms her. 

Seeing her depart still broken-hearted, Philip fol- 
lows lest she do herself some injury, while the 
Dauphin siezes this opportunity to tell the legate 
that 'bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's 
taste,' for him, because the defeat of the French 
forces wrankles deep in his heart. Although in re- 
ply to fears expressed for Arthur's safety, the 
Dauphin confidently affirms John will be satisfied in 
keeping Arthur imprisoned, the legate prophesies 
that if not dead already, the Prince will soon be 
slain. Then, he urges the Dauphin to attack Eng- 
land, — to which he has the next right, — before 
Faulconbridge can raise reinforcements in men and 
money, using arguments which determine the 
Dauphin to join him in urging the King to Immedi- 
ate action. 

Act IV. The fourth act opens in a room in 
the castle, where Hubert is bidding two executioners 
heat their Irons red-hot, and linger behind the arras 
until he stamps his foot, when they are to rush for- 
ward and bind fast the lad they find In his com- 
pany. Because one of the men mutters he hopes he 
Is not doing this without warrant, Hubert chides 
him; then, the men being duly concealed, calls upon 
Arthur to join him. Entering with a kindly greet- 
ing for his keeper, Arthur, on noticing he Is low- 



40 Life and Death of King John 

spirited, claims he alone has a right to be sorrowful, 
but that were he only free he would be 'as merry 
as the day is long.' He pitifully adds that he is 
not to blame for being Geffrey's son, or heir to Eng- 
land, and that he would gladly be Hubert's child 
so as to win his love. 

This artless talk overcomes the jailor, who ex- 
claims in an aside, that if he converses any longer 
with such innocence, his 'mercy which lies dead,' 
will awaken and prevent the execution of his plan. 
Struck by his unusual pallor, Arthur now touch- 
ingly inquires whether Hubert is ill, offering to 
nurse him because of the love he bears him, a de- 
votion which proves so moving, that with tears trick- 
ling down his cheeks, Hubert exhibits the orders 
he has received, hoarsely asking the Prince whether 
he can read? 

After perusing the order, Arthur piteously in- 
quires whether both his eyes will have to be put out 
with red-hot irons, and wonders whether Hubert 
will have the heart to do this to the lad, who, when 
he once had a headache, forfeited his rest to nurse 
him? When he concludes his eloquent appeal with 
the words, 'will you put out mine eyes? These 
eyes that never did nor never shall so much as frown 
on you,' Hubert grimly insists he must do so, 
although Arthur vows he would not believe it 
should an angel state he could be guilty of such 
cruelty ! 

Steeling his heart against further pleading, Hu- 
bert stamps, whereupon the executioners appear with 
red-hot irons and a rope, ready to carry out his 
orders. Fleeing to Hubert's arms as his refuge. 




Wm. Kaulbach 



HUBERT AND PRINCE ARTHUR 



Life and Death of King John 41 

Arthur piteously clings to him, vowing he will stand 
still, provided they do not bind him. By such 
promises, he finally prevails upon Hubert to send 
the men away, and when they depart, — glad to be 
spared such work, — he again inquires whether there 
is no appeal against this awful sentence, describing 
in feeling terms the distress caused by a mere speck 
in one's eye, and offering to sacrifice any other mem- 
ber in preference. After a while he notices with 
relief, that the irons have grown too cold to harm 
him, and when Hubert mutters they can be re- 
heated, exclaims the fire is nearly extinct, assuring 
Hubert, when he proposes to rekindle it by blowing 
upon it, that it will 'blush and glow with shame of 
your proceedings.' Conquered at last, Hubert ex- 
claims he may keep his eyesight, although he swore 
to commit this crime. These milder looks and tones 
relieve Arthur, who cries he appeared like one dis- 
guised a while ago, but again resembles himself! 
To escape the child's fervent gratitude, Hubert de- 
parts, vowing John must be made to believe his 
nephew is dead, and reiterating his promise not to 
injure Arthur 'for the wealth of all the world,' even 
though he risk his life! 

The next scene occurs in King John's palace, 
where, crowned the second time, he expresses delight 
at finding himself once more among his people. The 
Dukes of Pembroke and Salisbury deem this second 
coronation superfluous, for they declare one might 
as well 'gild refined gold,' 'paint the lily,' 'throw 
a perfume on the violet,' as try to enhance the 
sanctity of a first consecration. But, although both 
these noblemen plainly deem the ceremony a mis- 



42 Life and Death of King John 

take, John insists he was right in having it per- 
formed, ere he graciously Inquires what reforms they 
would like made in state affairs? 

Speaking in the name of the English people, Pem- 
broke begs John to set Arthur free, for the imprison- 
ment of a child is a great grievance to all his sub- 
jects. Just after the King has promised to place 
Arthur in Pembroke's care, Hubert comes in, and 
John hastily draws him aside. Meantime, Pem- 
broke exclaims to Salisbury that this is the very 
man who recently exhibited to one of his friends a 
cruel warrant which he fears has since been exe- 
cuted. Watching John, therefore, both mark his 
change of colour, and fancy it bodes ill in regard 
to Prince Arthur. Then, drawing near them once 
more, John gravely informs them Arthur is dead, 
whereupon the lords sarcastically comment upon so 
opportune an end! Although John tries to defend 
himself by inquiring whether they think he has com- 
mand of 'the pulse of life,' they exclaim 'it is ap- 
parent foul play,' and take leave of him forever, to 
go and find the Prince's remains and bury them 
suitably. 

Both lords having thus departed in wrath, John 
regrets what he has done, because 'there is no sure 
foundation set on blood, no certain life achieved by 
others' death.' The appearance of a messenger, 
whose face betokens ill-tidings, causes him to inquire 
anxiously what news he brings, and when John 
learns a French force has already landed in England, 
he wonders why his mother did not warn him. He 
IS then informed how Elinor and Constance have 
both died within three days of each other, — news 



Life and Death of King John 43 

which makes his head reel; — still he soon collects 
himself, and has just found out the Dauphin is lead- 
ing the French army, when Faulconbridge appears. 

Exclaiming he can bear no further misfortunes, 
John demands how his kinsman has prospered, wax- 
ing indignant on learning of the defection of his 
people, many of whom have been influenced by a re- 
cent prediction that he will be obliged to relinquish 
his crown before Ascension Day! Hearing Faul- 
conbridge has brought the prophet with him, John 
suddenly inquires of this man what induced him to 
say this, only to be gravely informed he did so *fore- 
knowing that the truth will fall out so!' In his 
wrath John entrusts the prophet to Hubert's keep- 
ing, with orders to hang him on Ascension Day at 
noon, and to return to receive further orders as 
soon as he has placed this unwelcome prophet in 
safe custody. 

Hubert and the prophet having gone, John asks 
Faulconbridge whether he has heard of the landing 
of the French, of Arthur's death, and of Salisbury's 
and Pembroke's defection? In hopes of winning 
the two latter lords back to their allegiance, John 
orders Faulconbridge to follow them, and only after 
his departure comments on his mother's sudden 
death. It is while John is still alone, that Hubert 
returns, reporting five moons have been seen, which 
phenomena people connect with Arthur's death. 
Such is the popular panic in consequence, that its 
mere description chills John's blood, and makes him 
turn upon Hubert, accusing him of being alone 
guilty of Arthur's death, by which he had naught 
to gain. When Hubert retorts John forced him to 



44 Life and Death of King John 

commit that crime, the King rejoins, 'it is the curse 
of kings to be attended by slaves that take their 
humours for a warrant to break within the bloody 
house of life.' Thus goaded, Hubert produces the 
royal warrant, which John no sooner beholds, than 
he vows murder would never have come to his mind 
had not so ready a tool been near at hand! When 
Hubert protests, John angrily inquires why he did 
not do so when the order was given, as a mere 
sign would have stopped him, and bids him begone, 
as one accursed, who has brought down upon Eng- 
land foreign Invasion, the disaffection of the nobles, 
and a panic among the people. This accusation 
determines Hubert no longer to withhold the in- 
formation that Arthur still lives, and when he con- 
cludes with the words It was not In him 'to be 
butcher of an innocent child,' John, perceiving the 
political advantage he can draw from this con- 
fession, promptly apologises to Hubert, and bids him 
hasten and tell the news to the peers, whom he In- 
vites to join him In his cabinet. 

The next scene Is played before the castle In 
which Arthur is Imprisoned, at the moment when 
he appears upon the high walls and looks down- 
ward, about to spring Into space. Before jumping, 
he implores the ground to be merciful and not hurt 
him, for, If not crippled by the fall, he hopes to 
enjoy freedom as a sailor lad. After concluding 
'as good to die and go, as die and stay,' Arthur 
springs, only to expire a moment later on the stones 
below, gasping they are as hard as his uncle's heart, 
and Imploring heaven to take his soul, and Eng- 
land to keep his bones. 



Life and Death of King John 45 

When he has expired, Salisbury and Pembroke 
appear, discuss joining the French, and are over- 
taken by Faulconbridge, who summons them Into 
the King's presence — summons they disregard, for 
they never wish to see John again! Advancing, 
they suddenly descry Arthur's corpse, over v^^hich 
they mourn, pointing it out to Faulconbridge with 
words of tender pity for the sufferings of the child, 
and of execration for those who drove him to so 
desperate an act. Hard-hearted as Faulconbridge 
is, he agrees 'It Is a damned and bloody work,' al- 
though he cannot imagine how anyone could be 
guilty of a child's death. The lords have just regis- 
tered a solemn oath to avenge Arthur, when Hu- 
bert appears in the distance, calling out that the 
Prince Is alive and the King wants them, words 
which seem pure mockery to Salisbury, who harshly 
bids him begone. As his orders are not Immedi- 
ately obeyed, Salisbury draws his sword, where- 
upon Faulconbridge restrains him, while Hubert 
protests that nothing, save respect for a noble an- 
tagonist, prevents him from seeking Immediate re- 
dress for the terms he has used. 

The rest now turn upon Hubert, terming him 
murderer, a charge he defies them to prove. Before 
attacking him, they point to Arthur's corpse as a 
confirmation of their words, and at the sight of 
the lifeless Prince, Htibert truthfully exclaims he 
left him In good health an hour ago, and protests 
he 'will weep his date of life out for his sweet 
life's loss.' But this grief seems pure hypocrisy 
to Salisbury, who decides to hasten off with his 
companions to the Dauphin's camp, where, they 



46 Life and Death of King John 

Inform Hubert and Faulconbridge, the King may 
hereafter send for them! 

The lords having gone, Faulconbridge demands 
whether Hubert is in any way to blame for Arthur*s 
death, vowing if he is guilty of slaying a child, no 
punishment can be too severe for him. When Hu- 
bert solemnly swears he is not guilty, *in act, con- 
sent, or sin of thought,' Faulconbridge bids him 
carry off his little charge, marvelling that England's 
hopes can make so light and helpless a burden. 
Then he hastens back to John, for 'a thousand 
businesses are brief in hand, and heaven itself doth 
frown upon the land.' 

Act V. The fifth act opens in John's palace, 
just after he has surrendered his crown to the 
legate, who returns it to him in the Pope's name, 
accepting him once more as vassal of the holy see. 
As John has submitted to this humiliation so as to 
retain possession of the sceptre slipping from his 
grasp, he implores the legate soon to use his au- 
thority to check the advance of the French. After 
admitting he induced the French to attack Eng- 
land, the legate departs, promising to make them 
lay down their arms. 

When he has gone, John inquires whether this 
is not Ascension Day, exclaiming the prophesy has 
been fulfilled, since he voluntarily laid aside his 
crown before noon. It is at this moment Faulcon- 
bridge enters, announcing that all Kent save Dover, 
has already yielded to the French, who have also 
become masters of London, where the nobles are 
thronging to receive them. These tidings dismay 
John, who expected the nobles to return to their 



Life and Death of King John 47 

allegiance as soon as It became known that Arthur 
was alive; but, when he learns from Faulconbridge 
that the little Prince was found dead at the foot 
of his prison walls, he vehemently exclaims Hubert 
deceived him! 

Seeing John hopeless of maintaining his position, 
Faulconbridge urges him to *be great in act,' as 
he has 'been in thought,' suggesting that he fight 
fire with fire, and by his example infuse courage in 
everybody. When John rejoins that the legate has 
promised to make peace with the invader, the Bas- 
tard scorns such an inglorious settlement, and bids 
John arm, lest he lose the opportune moment to 
triumph over a youthful foe. When he is there- 
fore told to prepare immediately for fight, he goes 
oH with great alacrity. 

The next scene is played in the French camp, 
at St. Edmundsbury, where the Dauphin orders 
copies made of the covenant he has just concluded 
with the English lords, a covenant which Salisbury 
promises shall never be broken, although it grieves 
him to fight his countrymen. The Dauphin has 
just reassured him In regard to England, — ^whose 
prosperity he means to further, — ^when the legate 
enters, announcing that John, having concluded 
peace with Rome, is no longer to be molested. But, 
loath to relinquish a purpose once avowed, the 
Dauphin refuses to withdraw at the Church's sum- 
mons, and claims England as his wife's inheritance, 
since Arthur Is dead. 

His proud refusal to return to France without 
having accomplished anything, amazes the legate, 
who has no time to bring forth further arguments, 



48 Life and Death of King John 

for trumpets sound and Faulconbrldge appears. 
Demanding whether the legate has been success- 
ful, and learning the Dauphin refuses to with- 
draw, Faulconbrldge shows great satisfaction, and 
reports that his master challenges the French, whom 
he Intends to drive home in disgrace! His de- 
fiant speech angers the Dauphin, who, contemptu- 
ously remarking it is easy to 'out-scold,' refuses 
the legate's offers to arbitrate, and Informs Faulcon- 
brldge his challenge is accepted. 

The next scene is played on the battle-field, 
where, meeting Hubert, John eagerly Inquires how 
his troops have fared, and is dismayed to learn For- 
tune has proved adverse. He is besides, prey to a 
fever which robs him of strength at the critical 
moment, so he abandons the field, sending word to 
Faulconbrldge he will take refuge in the neigh- 
bouring Abbey of Swinstead. As he is leaving, he 
learns with delight the Dauphin's supplies have been 
wrecked on Goodwin Sands, but even such tidings 
cannot cure him and he turns very faint. 

In another part of the field, Salisbury, Pem- 
broke and another lord have met, and comment 
over the number of friends John has secured, mar- 
velling in particular at Faulconbrldge's courage, and 
wondering whether the King has really left the 
battle-field. Their conversation Is Interrupted by 
a mortally wounded Frenchman, who warns them 
they are betrayed, and advises them to crave John's 
pardon before it is too late. On learning that the 
Dauphin, — who swore friendship with them, — in- 
tends to sacrifice them In case he is victorious, all 
three lords leave the field, bearing with them the 



Life and Death of King John 49 

wounded man who has so kindly befriended them. 

In the next scene the Dauphin boasts they have 
driven the foe from the field, just as a messenger 
brings word that the English nobles have deserted, 
and that his supplies have been wrecked! Know- 
ing King John is at Swinstead Abbey, the Dauphin 
proposes to pursue him thither on the morrow, and 
retires while his men mount guard over the camp. 

We now behold Swinstead Abbey, where, coming 
from opposite directions, Hubert and Faulconbridge 
meet. In their first surprise they challenge each 
other, dropping their defiant attitude only when 
they discover they are both on the English side. 
Making themselves known, they then eagerly in- 
quire for news; but, it is only after some hesitation 
that Hubert reveals that John has probably been 
poisoned by one of the monks, and is now speech- 
less, warning Faulconbridge the end is so near 
he had better provide for his own safety. Unable 
to credit such tidings, Faulconbridge inquires fur- 
ther particulars, only to hear the rebel lords have 
been pardoned and are now with Prince Henry by 
the royal death-bed. 

It is in an orchard near this same Abbey that 
Prince Henry, conversing with Salisbury and another 
lord, sadly informs them his father's death is im- 
minent. A moment later Pembroke joins them, re- 
porting that the King wishes to be brought out in 
the open air, as he fancies it will do him good. Af- 
ter giving orders for his father to be conveyed to 
this spot. Prince Henry laments the sudden seizure 
which has laid him low; and even while Salisbury 
is vainly trying to comfort him, bearers bring in the 



50 Life and Death of King John 

dying monarch. Shortly after gasping, 'Now my 
soul hath elbow-room,' John adds that an internal 
fire consumes him! Then, in reply to Prince 
Henry's inquiries, he admits he is indeed dying from 
poison, and begs for the relief which no one can 
afford him, although his sufferings wring tears from 
all. 

The sudden appearance of Faulconbridge, rouses 
John enough to remark he arrives in time to see him 
die! These tidings dismay Faulconbridge, who an- 
nounces the Dauphin is coming, and that, having 
lost most of his own forces, he will not be able to 
defend his King! At these words John sinks back 
dead, and Salisbury exclaims: 'My liege! my lord! 
but now a King, now thus.* 

Seeing his father has gone. Prince Henry mourns, 
while Faulconbridge swears he will linger on earth 
only long enough to avenge John, and will then 
hasten to wait upon him in heaven as he has done 
here below. Hearing him add that England is in 
imminent danger, Salisbury informs him that the 
legate has just brought offers of peace from the 
Dauphin, which can be accepted without shame. 
Instead of continuing the war, therefore, the 
Dauphin will retreat to France, leaving the legate 
to settle terms with Salisbury, Faulconbridge and 
others. 

After advising Prince Henry to show his father 
due respect by attending his body to Worcester, — • 
where John asked to be buried, and where he can 
assume the English crown, — Faulconbridge promises 
to serve him faithfully, an oath of fealty in which 
Salisbury joins. Although Prince Henry can thank 



Life and Death of King John 51 

them only by tears, the play closes with Faulcon- 
bridge's patriotic assurance that 'this England never 
did, nor never shall, lie at the proud feet of a con- 
queror,' and that naught vv^ill ever make English- 
men afraid as long as 'England to itself do rest but 
true.* 



THE TRAGEDY OF KING RICHARD II 

Act I. The first act opens in the royal palace 
in London, where Richard XL, addressing his uncle 
John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, inquires whether 
he has brought his son Bolingbroke hither, so his 
difference with the Duke of Norfolk can be settled. 
On hearing both men are present, and that no ap- 
parent treachery is discernible, Richard decides to 
confront accuser and accused in his presence. 

A moment later both men are ushered in, and 
after they have greeted their sovereign with respect- 
ful good wishes, Richard invites Bolingbroke to 
justify his charge against his opponent. Taking 
heaven to witness he is free from petty hate, Boling- 
broke accuses Norfolk of treachery, offering to stake 
his life to prove his words. 

This accusation his opponent answers in cool but 
vindictive tones, claiming that respect for his sov- 
ereign holds his wrath in check, although he gives 
the lie to Bolingbroke and defies him, calling him a 
coward and villain. At these taunts, Bolingbroke 
flings down his gauntlet, offering, although Nor- 
folk's superior in birth, to measure swords with him, 
and rejoicing when he sees his gage of battle picked 
up, for that is a sign Norfolk accepts his challenge. 

In hopes of arbitrating this quarrel, Richard in- 
quires what charge Bolingbroke makes against Nor- 
folk, only to learn he accuses that nobleman of di- 
verting to his own uses money intended for the sol- 
diers' pay, of plotting treason for the past eighteen 
52 



Tragedy of King Richard II 53 

years, and of having brought about the death of the 
Duke of Gloucester, his uncle, whose blood calls for 
revenge. 

When Richard bids Norfolk defend himself, as- 
suring him that even were his own brother accused 
he would strive to be impartial, Norfolk, who has 
already given his antagonist the lie, explains that 
the money he received was part of a debt long due, 
that he had no hand in Gloucester's death, and 
that although he once conspired against the Duke of 
Lancaster, it was a sin of youth, long since repented 
and forgiven. He adds that such accusations as 
have been hurled against him have been dictated 
by pure rancour, and throwing down his gauntlet 
in his turn, swears to defend his honour to his last 
breath. When he implores, thereupon, that a day 
may soon be appointed for the judicial duel, Rich- 
ard wishing the quarrel settled without bloodshed, 
pledges himself to hold Norfolk in check if John of 
Gaunt will do the same with his fiery son. 

Then, Gaunt and the King force Bolingbroke 
and Norfolk to thrown down again the gage each has 
picked up, although both young rrlen resist, for they 
deem such a withdrawal cowardly. In his distress, 
Norfolk even casts himself at the King's feet, im- 
ploring his pardon for refusing to obey his com- 
mands, but Richard nevertheless insists upon his 
placing the gage in his royal hand, a sacrifice Nor- 
folk is so reluctant to make, that he exclaims, 'take 
honour from me, and my life is done.' When the 
King next tries to induce Bolingbroke to set a good 
example by relinquishing his token, his cousin vows 
he cannot be guilty of such a sin, and stalks out of 



54 Tragedy of King Richard II 

the room still defying Norfolk. Petulantly de- 
claring he was 'not born to sue, but to command,' 
the King now decrees that since the adversaries will 
not be reconciled, they shall meet in the lists at 
Coventry, on St. Lambert's day, and there settle 
this quarrel with their swords. 

The next scene is played in the Duke of Lan- 
caster's palace, where he Is telling his widowed 
sister-in-law, the Duchess of Gloucester, that heaven 
will have to avenge the murder of her husband, for 
he dares not do so himself upon the King. Angry 
and disappointed, the Duchess inquires whether he 
has no brotherly feelings, declaring that her hus- 
band, one of Edward VIL's seven stalwart sons, 
having been foully murdered, he should avenge this 
murder for his own sake. 

When Lancaster assures her that her husband 
having died In God's quarrel, Providence will avenge 
him, she wonders to whom she can turn for aid, 
only to be referred 'to God, the widow's champion 
and defence.' Thereupon the Duchess retorts she 
win Indeed turn to God, bidding Lancaster, mean- 
while, witness the conflict between his son and Nor- 
folk, and hoping that the latter, — whom she con- 
siders her husband's assassin, — may be slain. Be- 
fore departing, she sends her compliments to her 
brother-in-law, Duke of York, bidding him avoid 
her widowed home. 

The next scene Is played in the lists at Coventry, 
where, with the usual formality, the lord marshal 
Inquires whether both champions are ready, and 
learning that they merely await his summons, vovv^s 
they shall be called as soon as the monarch appears. 



Tragedy of King Richard II ^^ 

Blasts of trumpets then herald first the entrance of 
the royal party, and next of Norfolk, whereupon 
the King bids the marshal inquire of this champion 
the cause for which he has come here to fight? 
After declining his name and titles, Norfolk states 
he has come to defend his truth and loyalty against 
Bolingbroke, whom he hopes by the grace of God to 
prove 'a traitor to my God, my King, and me.' A 
second trumpet peal then announces the appearance 
of Bolingbroke, who going through the same form, 
declares himself ready to prove Norfolk a traitor, 
provided heaven upholds the right. 

After the marshal has forbidden any interference 
in the coming fight, Bolingbroke craves permission 
to kiss his sovereign's hand, a favour which Richard 
grants, coldly saying as he embraces him, 'As thy 
cause is right, so be thy fortune in this royal fight.' 
His condescension and good wishes seem to touch 
Bolingbroke, who expresses readiness to die in so good 
a cause, ere taking leave of his kinsman and of his 
father, who bestows upon him a paternal blessing. 
Then, both champions take their places, Boling- 
broke calling upon his innocence, and Norfolk de- 
claring that whatever the issue of the combat, he 
lives and dies a loyal subject of King Richard, who 
declares he sees Virtue with valour couched' in his 
eye. 

At a sign from the throne, both champions re- 
ceive their lances, and, the heralds having again pro- 
claimed their names and purposes, are about to begin 
fighting, when Richard orders them both to lay 
aside their weapons, and abide by his decree instead 
of by the fate of combat. Then, both champions 



^6 Tragedy of King Richard II 

before him, he proclaims the banishment of Boling- 
broke from England for ten years, a decree to 
which the culprit bows, gravely saying his only com- 
fort will be that the same sun will continue to shine 
upon them both. 

Next, turning to Norfolk, the King much more 
reluctantly banishes him forever, a sentence passing 
heavy to a man, who, having talked English for 
forty years, now has to train his tongue to some 
new language. When Richard reproves him for 
complaining, Norfolk despairingly cries, 'I turn me 
from my country's light, to dwell In solemn shades 
of endless night.' Then, after making both an- 
tagonists swear not to meet or to hold communica- 
tion during their banishment, nor to plot against 
King, countrymen, or native land, Richard hears 
Bolingbroke once more summon Norfolk to confess 
his crimes, a confession Norfolk vows he would not 
make even were he the traitor his opponent sup- 
poses! But after bidding the King farewell, Nor- 
folk goes out exclaiming, 'Now no way can I stray; 
save back to England, all the world's my way.' 

On seeing the grief of Lancaster at parting with 
his son, Richard cuts off four years of the latter's 
term of exile, a boon Bolingbroke appreciates, and 
for which Lancaster expresses gratitude, although 
he fears he may not live even six years! To cheer 
him, Richard assures him he still has long to live, 
whereupon Lancaster reminds him it doesn't rest 
in a king's power to lengthen a man's days, al- 
though he may shorten or sadden them at will. 
When Richard claims to have banished Boling- 
broke 'upon good advice,' Lancaster rejoins that 



Tragedy of King Richard II 57 

were he a stranger and not a father, he could more 
easily plead in the plaintiff's behalf. To end this 
painful scene, Richard finally bids father and son 
take leave of each other, and departs, repeating his 
sentence of banishment for six years. 

All his friends now approach to take leave of 
Bolingbroke, and one of them offers to accompany 
him part of the way. Because Bolingbroke doesn't 
answer these kindly speeches, his father inquires 
why he 'hoards his words,' only to discover grief 
has robbed him of the power of speech. To give 
his son courage, Lancaster now bids him make a 
virtue of necessity and enjoy his sojourn abroad, 
although the exiled man rejoins every stride he 
takes will remind him he is farther away from 
home. In fact Bolingbroke does not find the pleas- 
ures of imagination satisfying, and assures his father 
that although banished, he will ever remain true 
to England, to which he bids a fervent farewell as 
he departs. 

We are now transferred to the court, where 
Richard is inquiring of Aumerle, — Bolingbroke's 
cousin, — how far he accompanied the exile, only to 
learn it was but a short distance. Instead of feel- 
ing grief for parting with Bolingbroke, Aumerle 
shows relief, and when asked to repeat the exile's 
last words, replies they consisted in a brief fare- 
well, and adds he hopes the term of banishment will 
be extended. Although Richard reminds Aumerle 
the exile is their cousin, he avers he will not be in a 
hurry to recall him, for he has noticed Bolingbroke 
is as anxious to court the favour of the common 
people as if he were heir to England's crown. 



58 Tragedy of King Richard II 

At this juncture another courtier reminds Richard 
that matters in Ireland are pressing, whereupon the 
King decides to hasten thither, and arranges for 
new supplies of money by making out blank char- 
ters, which are to be granted to all those who con- 
tribute lavishly. These arrangements are inter- 
rupted by the announcement of the sudden and griev- 
ous illness of the Duke of Lancaster, who craves his 
presence. Promising to visit his uncle immedi- 
ately, the King expresses the unkind hope that the 
physician will speed his death, for he knows Lan- 
caster is wealthy, and is very anxious to confiscate 
his estates for the benefit of his coming campaign 
in Ireland. 

Act II. The second act opens in Ely house, 
where the dying John of Gaunt hopes the King will 
soon arrive, as he wishes to give him some last ad- 
vice. Although his brother York bids him not 
trouble thus in vain, Lancaster cherishes the belief 
a dying man's words will be heeded, and that he 
may render Richard a last service. When York 
assures him the royal ears are stopped by vain, flat- 
tering speeches, and that all Richard's time is de- 
voted to frivolities, Lancaster exclaims, *he tires 
betimes that spurs too fast betimes,' and wails that 
England, which he eloquently describes as a 'pre- 
cious stone set in the silver sea,' is now a prey to mis- 
government. 

Seeing Richard enter, York urges Lancaster to 
remember his youth and deal gently with him, just 
as the royal couple draw near their aged uncle's 
bed-side with encouraging words. When the King 
addresses him as 'aged Gaunt,' Lancaster rejoins 



Tragedy of King Richard II 59 

he IS old indeed, grief having added to his years, 
and that he has so faithfully watched over Eng- 
land's w^elfare, that he is now as 'gaunt' 
as his name. Then, he tries to warn Richard 
against flatterers and bad advice, tells him his grand- 
father would not approve of his courses, and re- 
minds him that he is merely 'Landlord of Eng- 
land,' for a time. This speech sorely offends the 
King, who vows had it not been uttered by a sick 
man, he should feel his wrath, a threat which fails to 
daunt Lancaster, who accuses Richard of having slain 
Gloucester. Then, solemnly warning the King he 
will some day remember the words he now scorns, 
Gaunt bids his attendants bear him first to his bed 
and then to his grave, exclaiming that those who 
have love and honour may care to live, but that he 
does not! 

The aged Lancaster having been removed, 
Richard cruelly comments that those who 'suUens 
have' ought to die, although his uncle York tries 
to make him take a more kindly view of Lan- 
caster's well-meant advice, by assuring him his uncle 
loves him as dearly as he does Bolingbroke. A mo- 
ment later Northumberland enters, announcing the 
Duke of Lancaster is dead, and while York mourns 
his brother's demise, Richard, after stating 'the 
ripest fruit first falls,' proclaims he will take pos- 
session of his uncle's wealth, and employ it for the 
Irish campaign. This decision horrifies York, who 
audibly wonders how long he will have to bear 
such things as a brother's death, a nephew's banish- 
ment, and the confiscation of ancestral estates; for 
he is the last remaining of Edward's brave sons, of 



Co Tragedy of King Richard II 

whom the Black Prince, Richard's father, was great- 
est and best. 

Seeing his tears, Richard inquires the cause of 
his grief, only to be reproached for depriving Bol- 
ingbroke of his rightful inheritance, and to be 
warned this will prove an impolitic move! Ignor- 
ing this warning, too, Richard reiterates the order 
for confiscation, and York departs to avoid witnessing 
such an act of Injustice. His uncle having gone, 
Richard bids his attendants carry out his instruc- 
tions ere they depart for Ireland on the morrow, 
announcing that the Duke of York will act as 
regent during his absence. Then, turning to the 
Queen, he entreats her to show a merry counte- 
nance, as they will have to part on the morrow, 
and goes out with her and the rest of his train. 

Left alone in the house of the death, friends and 
attendants conclude that the old Duke of Lancaster 
being dead, Bolingbroke replaces him, although the 
King has stripped him of the revenues which should 
accompany the title he inherits. After expressing 
heartfelt sorrow for what has occurred, they ex- 
claim it is shameful a King should thus ruin a sub- 
ject, adding this is but foretaste of what will befall 
them all hereafter. They add that the weak and 
vacillating courses of the King have already 
alienated nobles and commons, and that his constant 
exactions are fast wearying all his subjects, for his 
revenues, which should suffice to defray all state 
expenses, have been madly squandered, and Richard 
has spent more in times of peace than many of his 
ancestors when waging war! But, when it comes 
to robbing his kinsmen to defray the Irish campaign, 



Tragedy of King Richard II 6i 

all perceive he is conjuring up a storm, wherein 
they, too, will perish, unless they take measures to 
insure their safety. 

Three of these malcontents then reveal how Bol- 
ingbroke is assembling a force on the coast of 
France, by means of which he expects to invade 
England, as soon as Richard has gone, and to win 
back his estates. He has chosen as his landing place 
Ravenspurgh, where these three lords — ^Willoughby, 
Ross and Northumberland, — mean to betake them- 
selves and join the rebels, for they spur off Immedi- 
ately after making their decision known. 

The curtain next rises in Windsor castle, where 
attendants are vainly trying to cheer the youthful 
Queen, who, ever since her husband's departure, has 
been in a melancholy mood. Although loath to feel 
merry with the King away, Isabella is so unable to 
account for her depression, that her attendants as- 
sure her ^each substance of a grief has twenty 
shadows,' and vow she is taking those very shadows 
for realities. The young Queen, however, deems 
her depression may be the foreboding of some 
'nameless woe,' just as a messenger enters, inquir- 
ing whether the King has already gone? This 
sudden arrival induces her to ask a few questions, 
in reply to which she learns how Bolingbroke has 
landed at Ravenspurgh, where he has been joined 
by a number of nobles. Appalled by such tidings, 
the Queen exclaims her depression was justified, 
while the men about her eagerly inquire whether 
the proper steps have been taken to declare Boling- 
broke a rebel and rouse the people to resistance? 
While the Queen is still lamenting over these bad 



62 Tragedy of King Richard II 

tidings, the Duke of York comes in, looking so 
bowed down with grief, that he inspires neither 
Queen nor courtiers with hopes of help or of good 
tidings. Instead, he despondently avers 'Com- 
fort 's in heaven; and we are on the earth where 
nothing lives but crosses, cares, and grief,' and re- 
grets the King's absence leaves him, — an old man, 
— to defend the crown against such fearful odds. 

The arrival of a servant announcing that York's 
son and sundry other nobles have joined the rebels, 
impels the Duke to entrust his ring to this man, 
to carry to the Duchess of Gloucester, asking her 
to lend him a thousand pounds, as immediate 
funds are required to defend the throne. In re- 
ply, the servant tells him such an errand would 
be vain, for, passing near the castle, he heard the 
Duchess had just breathed her last! After exclaim- 
ing it is 'a tide of woes' which has burst in upon 
them, York adds he does not know where to procure 
funds; so, sending off the servant to collect all the 
arms available, he bespeaks the aid of all present, 
and leaves the room with the Queen, exclaiming 
'everything is left at six and seven.' 

When he has gone, the courtiers conclude it will 
be vain to oppose Bolingbroke, whose popularity 
offers a great contrast to the general disgust with 
the King's doings. Two of them. Green and 
Bushy, therefore decide to trim their sails accord- 
ing to the wind now blowing and seize Bristol 
Castle, while Bagot proposes to hasten to Ireland 
and warn the King, although he has little hope 
York will be able to hold out against so formidable 
an opponent. 



Tragedy of King Richard II 63 

The next scene is played in the wilds of Glouces- 
tershire, where Bolingbroke inquires of Northum- 
berland how far it is still to Berkeley castle? 
While admitting he is a stranger in these parts, 
Northumberland courteously avers the road from 
Ravenspurgh has seemed short to him because he 
has been too absorbed in Bolingbroke's conversation 
to note the flight of time. He opines, however, 
the generals of the other forces, — less well enter- 
tained, — may have found their journey tedious, just 
as Bolingbroke descries some troops which North- 
umberland discovers are led by his son Percy. Hail- 
ing the youth, therefore, he asks news of his 
brother Worcester, whom Percy evidently expected 
to find with him since he has deserted the Queen. 
When Northumberland inquires what determined 
such a move, Percy rejoins that his father, hav- 
ing been pronounced a traitor, Worcester went in 
anger to join Bolingbroke at Ravenspurgh, leav- 
ing him to ascertain what forces York had stationed 
at Berkeley castle. 

His curiosity thus satisfied, Northumberland in- 
troduces his son to Bolingbroke, who graciously ac- 
cepts the youth's services, ere they return to the 
topic of the nearby castle and the forces manning 
it. Percy insists there are but three hundred 
men now under York's command, and that only a 
few of the lesser nobles have remained true to the 
King. 

The forces under Ross and Willoughby now 
join them, and Bolingbroke welcomes these leaders 
also, promising them rich rewards should fortune 
favour him. After courteously acknowledging 



64 Tragedy of King Richard II 

greeting and promises, all turn to watch Berkeley's 
approach. Because the latter addresses Bolingbroke 
by his former title, he is haughtily reminded that 
since Gaunt's death his son is Duke of Lancaster. 
After apologising, Berkeley courteously explains he 
is sent by York to ask why Bolingbroke is riding 
through the realm with an armed force, just as this 
nobleman appears in person and is respectfully 
greeted by Bolingbroke as 'my noble uncle.' 

Empty courtesy, however, fails to satisfy York, 
who haughtily declines relationship to a traitor, 
and asks what this armament means? After some 
hesitation, Bolingbroke pours out his grievances, 
imploring his uncle to do justice to him, as he 
would expect it to be done to his own son. Then, 
as Northumberland, Ross, and Willoughby, all aver 
Bolingbroke has indeed been treated unjustly, York 
has to admit it, although he denies him the 
right 'to be his own carver,' and rebukes all 
present for disloyalty. When Northumberland re- 
joins that Bolingbroke is merely claiming his own, 
York, unable to refute the statement, proposes to 
remain neutral, and to entertain them all in Berke- 
ley castle. After gladly accepting this offer Boling- 
broke invites York to help him oust the traitors, 
who have taken possession of Bristol castle, an ex- 
pedition the King's representative hesitates to un- 
dertake, although he pessimistically admits 'Things 
past redress are now with me past care.' 

The next scene represents a camp in Wales 
where a Welsh commander tells Salisbury they have 
waited ten days without hearing from the King! 
To induce these Welsh forces to remain under arms 



Tragedy of King Richard II 6^ 

a trifle longer, Salisbury vows Richard reposes 
great confidence in them, a statement their leader 
doubts, for he believes his master dead because many- 
bad omens have occurred of late. When he has gone 
with his troops, Salisbury sadly mutters that Rich- 
ard's glory like 'a shooting-star,' is falling to earth, 
for his friends are deserting him in favour of the 
foe, and 'crossly to his good all fortune goes!' 

Act III. The third act opens before the castle 
of Bristol, which Bolingbroke, York, and North- 
umberland have seized, and where the former de- 
nounces Bushy and Green for influencing the King 
to mistrust the Queen, and for banishing such inof- 
fensive subjects as himself. For these and other of- 
fences he sentences both to death, a penalty they 
haughtily consider preferable to living under his rule 
in England ! Then, the prisoners gone, Bolingbroke 
bids York send a kindly message in his name to the 
Queen, ere he departs to fight Glendower. 

The next scene is played on the coast of Wales, 
where Richard, recently landed, notes the location 
of a castle near by. When his cousin Aumerle 
inquires how he feels after his 'late tossing on the 
breaking sea' Richard confesses he is glad to stand 
upon his own soil once more, and sentimentally 
greets England, bidding it be loyal to him in spite of 
traitors. Although the Bishop of Carlisle expresses 
the conviction a consecrated King can never be 
forsaken, York's son, Aumerle, suggests that owing 
to their remissness, Bolingbroke has collected vast 
powers. These tidings prove unwelcome to Rich- 
ard, although he soon avers that just as thieves 
steal forth at night when the sun is absent, treach- 



'66 Tragedy of King Richard II 

ery flourishes in a realm when the King Is away. 
Still, he flatters himself that at his approach Bol- 
ingbroke will flee and his adherents desert him. 

The appearance of Salisbury now causes Richard 
eagerly to inquire where the Welsh forces are sta- 
tioned, a question which Salisbury answers by re- 
porting how the Welsh deserted his standard be- 
cause they deemed him dead. This appalling news 
blanches Richard's cheeks, although Aumerle strives 
to comfort and encourage him. It is, however, a 
sense of his royal dignity which most upholds Rich- 
ard, for he soon declares he expects his uncle York to 
the rescue. Just then, Scroop appears, bearing a 
message he is loath to deliver. Bidding him speak, 
even were It to announce the loss of his realm, Rich- 
ard learns how Bolingbroke, after collecting a large 
army, has swept triumphantly on. When the king 
breathlessly inquires where are Wiltshire, Bagot, 
Bushy and Green, on whom he depended to defend 
his rights, he learns that some of them have turned 
traitors, while others have been slain ! Hearing this, 
Aumerle breathlessly inquires what has become of 
his father, while Richard declares they must talk 
of none but mournful subjects hereafter, for all 
he once owned has passed Into Bolingbroke's hands, 
and nothing now remains for him save melancholy 
and death! 

Reminding Richard that *wlse men ne'er sit 
and wail their woes,' but try Instead to prevent 
them, Carlisle and Aumerle urge him to make new 
efforts, even meeting Bolingbroke, If necessary, on 
the battle-field. When the King Inquires where are 
York's forces, Scroop reluctantly admits, York, too, 



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KING RICHARD II 



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Tragedy of King Richard II 67 

has joined Bolingbroke, who has all the castles north 
and south in his power. This news makes Richard 
regret ever having left England, and propose to 
withdraw to Flint castle, to brood over his sorrows 
and losses, bitterly advising his followers 'hence 
away from Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair 
day.' 

The next scene Is played before Flint castle, where 
Bolingbroke learns of the Welsh desertion and of 
the landing of the King. When Northumberland 
adds that Richard cannot be far away, York rebukes 
him for not saying 'King Richard,' as heretofore. 
After some dispute on the present propriety of 
such a mode of address, Bolingbroke bids these 
wordy antagonists cease arguing and listen to Percy's 
news. It now transpires that the King, Salisbury, 
Aumerle and others are in Flint castle, which re- 
fuses to open its gates. So a trumpeter is dis- 
patched thither, proffering Bolingbroke's respect- 
ful homage to the King, on condition the decree of 
banishment be recalled and his confiscated estates 
restored. That granted, Bolingbroke faithfully 
promises to devote the remainder of his life and 
strength to the King's service, but should it be re- 
fused he grimly threatens war! 

In reply to the trumpeter's summons, Richard 
appears in person on the castle walls, and Boling- 
broke and York comment upon his appearance, ere 
he haughtily states, that having been divinely ap- 
pointed King, God will fight for him. Then he 
notifies Northumberland and Bolingbroke that this 
invasion Is an act of treachery which will result 
in much bloodshed. Northumberland, who speaks 



68 Tragedy of King Richard II 

for Bolingbroke, explains that far from coming with 
treacherous intentions, his subject humbly kisses his 
hand, merely asking that his rights be respected. 
Such being the case, Richard is ready to consider 
Bolingbroke's demands, a politic reply he is loath 
to make, although Aumerle deems it imperative he 
should do so. But, the King himself so deeply 
regrets being forced to retract the sentence of ban- 
ishment, that he mournfully hopes grief will soon 
kill him. 

Watching proceedings, Aumerle now announces 
that Northumberland, having delivered his message 
to Bolingbroke, is returning, whereupon Richard 
feebly wonders whether he will have to lose all 
save the name of King? Then, pretending he 
courts retirement and freedom from kingly cares, 
he rebukes Aumerle for weeping over his fallen 
fortunes, and turning inquires of Northumberland 
what reply Bolingbroke sends? With due formal- 
ity the emissary rejoins Bolingbroke is awaiting him 
down in court, where he begs for an interview, a 
request Richard bitterly comments upon ere he 
complies. 

While Bolingbroke is asking Northumberland 
what answer the King sends, Richard appears; so, 
bidding all present imitate him, Bolingbroke kneels 
before his monarch, who reproaches him with am- 
bitions his lowly attitude belies. Respectfully re- 
plying he only claims his own, Bolingbroke is sur- 
prised to hear Richard admit he and his are in- 
cluded in that claim, and promise to grant all he 
asks, and even accompany him to London ! Because 
Bolingbroke accepts without demur, Richard bitterly 



Tragedy of King Richard 11 69 

realises he 'must not say no,' and sadly passes off the 
stage. 

The next scene is played at Langley, in the Duke 
of York's garden, where the Queen is asking her 
ladies what sport they can devise to drive away 
care? When her attendants propose bowls, danc- 
ing, story-telling, or singing, the Queen objects, as 
all these pastimes remind her of happier days, and 
of present sorrows. The ladies' conversation is 
checked by the arrival of a gardener and helpers, 
whose talk the Queen proposes to overhear. So, 
from her hiding-place in the thicket, she listens to 
the head-gardener's directions for the binding up of 
fruit boughs, the pruning of shoots, and the extrac- 
tion of weeds, and hears one of the servants in- 
quire why such work should be carefully done in a 
garden and neglected in state affairs? Then the 
gardener rejoins that such pruning has recently been 
done by Bolingbroke, — ^who has cut off Wiltshire, 
Bushy and Green, — ere he adds that had the King 
played the part of good gardener, his supplanter 
would not have needed to lop him off as a useless 
bough! Because his companions now inquire in 
awe-struck tones whether Richard is to be deposed, 
he replies such tidings have indeed been received. 

Unable to bear further suspense, the Queen 
emerges from her hiding-place, tearfully asking what 
the man mieans, and bidding him tell her all he 
knows. Thereupon, the gardener informs her how 
Richard has fallen into Bolingbroke's power, and 
has been deprived of all save a few vain honours, as 
she can see for herself by posting to London. After 
lamenting the fact that the one whom it concerns 



70 Tragedy of King Richard II 

most, should be the last to hear these tidings, the 
Queen bids her ladies accompany her to the capital, 
wondering whether she was born to grace Boling- 
broke's triumph? Meanwhile, the gardener gently 
pities her, and decides to plant rue on the spot where 
her tears fell, 'in the remembrance of a weeping 
Queen.' 

Act IV. The fourth act opens in Westminster 
Hall, where Bolingbroke bids Bagot reveal all he 
knows of Gloucester's death. Asking to be con- 
fronted with Aumerle, Bagot states how he over- 
heard him propose to kill his uncle, and express a 
wish that Bolingbroke were dead. This accusa- 
tion Aumerle denies, terming his accuser a liar, 
and challenging him to fight. Seeing Bagot about 
to raise his gauntlet, Bolingbroke restrains him, 
when, starting forward, Fitzwater also defies Au- 
merle, as do Percy and another lord. Haughtily 
swearing he would answer twenty thousand similar 
challenges, Aumerle is about to pick up all four 
gauntlets, when Surrey challenges Fitzwater in his 
turn. Although he accepts the duel, Fitzwater in- 
sists he overheard Norfolk relate how Aumerle had 
sent two men to slay Gloucester at Calais. 

To end a dispute which has become so acrimonious, 
Bolingbroke states his old foe Norfolk shall be re- 
called to bear witness, and only then learns that 
this nobleman, having fought in the East for many 
years, finally withdrew to Venice, where he gave 
'his pure soul unto his Captain Christ, under whose 
colours he had fought so long.' These tidings sur- 
prise Bolingbroke, who therefore decides that the 
courtiers' differences shall be settled on a day he 



Tragedy of King Richard II 71 

will appoint for the judicial duel. It is at this 
juncture that the Duke of York appears, announcing 
he comes from 'plume-pluck'd Richard,' who ac- 
cepts Bolingbroke as heir, relinquishes to him 
sceptre and throne, and hails him as Henry IV. of 
England. Seeing Bolingbroke accept without de- 
mur, the Bishop of Carlisle indignantly objects that 
no subject can pass sentence on a King, and de- 
nounces Bolingbroke as a traitor, predicting his ac- 
cession will bring misfortune upon England. In 
answer to this protest, Northumberland arrests the 
bishop for high treason, and hands him over to the 
lord of Westminster until he can be tried. 

When Bolingbroke next demands that Richard be 
brought to Westminster to make a public abdica- 
tion, York goes ofi to get him. Pending his re- 
turn with the deposed King, Bolingbroke chides the 
contending lords, who are to prepare for their de- 
fence. He has just concluded his reproof, when 
Richard enters, closely followed by officers bearing 
the regalia. 

Expressing surprise at being summoned before his 
successor before he has had time to forget his own 
kingship, Richard reminds all present of the flat- 
tery which once surrounded the monarch, who no 
one now greets with a 'God save the King!' When 
he inquires why he has been called, York informs 
him it is to offer his crown to Bolingbroke, which 
Richard immediately proceeds to do, pathetically 
comparing himself and his cousin to two buckets 
in a well, he representing the one out of sight, 
full of tears instead of water! When Bolingbroke 
haughtily asks whether he does not resign willingly, 



72 Tragedy of King Richard II 

Richard declares he is ready enough to depose all 
state^ but must retain his griefs and cares. There- 
upon Bolingbroke suggests the latter go with the 
crown, but Richard mournfully insists they will re- 
main with him. After some melancholy reflec- 
tions, he petulantly renounces all pomp and majesty, 
forgives those who failed to keep their oath to him, 
and hopes they may be true to his successor, whom 
he hails as King Harry, wishing him 'many years 
of sunshine days!' Then, turning to Northum- 
berland, Richard pathetically inquires what more 
is expected of him, but, when asked to read aloud 
a paper stating he is not fit to reign, he indignantly 
retorts that were Northumberland called upon to 
record his own offences, the blackest of all would 
be his present treatment of his King. Paying no 
heed to this reproof, Northumberland again urges 
him to read the paper, whereupon Richard claims 
his eyes are too full of tears to permit him to see, 
wailing he is as great a traitor as the rest since 
he consented to his own deposition. Next, calling 
for a mirror so he may behold his image 'bankrupt 
of his majesty,' Richard sadly gazes at his own reflec- 
tion, and smashes the glass because it deludes him by 
representing him unchanged. When he sadly ex- 
claims, 'sorrow hath destroy'd my face' Bolingbroke 
coolly rejoins *the shadow of your sorrow destroy'd 
the shadow of your face,' and when Richard craves 
permission to retire, bids the nobles convey him to 
the Tower, an order which causes Richard to de- 
nounce them all as 'conveyers' that 'rise thus nimbly 
by a true King's fall.' 

Having coldly watched his predecessor out of 



Tragedy of King Richard II 73 

sight, Bolfngbroke announces his coronation for the 
following Wednesday, ere he too leaves the hall. 
Left alone there, Carlisle, Westminster and Au- 
merle, moralise upon what they have just seen, and 
when Aumerle asks both clergymen whether there 
is no way to rid the realm of 'this pernicious blot,' 
Westminster rejoins that only after they have taken 
the sacrament together at his house, will he dare 
reveal a plot he has framed, which will show them 
*all a merry day.' 

Act V. The fifth act opens on a London street 
leading to the Tower, where the Queen gazing sadly 
up at her husband's future abode, waits until he 
passes by. A moment later when Richard appears, 
she marvels at the change in him, for he now seems 
only the shadow of the King she once knew. Per- 
ceiving her sorrow, Richard bids her waste no tears 
over him, but hasten back to France and enter a 
nunnery, for henceforth their 'holy lives must win 
a new world's crown,' which their 'profane hours 
here have stricken down.' Resenting such pas- 
sivity, the Queen urges him to remember he is a 
'lion and a king of beasts,' whereat he tearfully 
murmurs that had he been a king of men instead 
of beasts, things would never have come to such a 
pass. Then, bidding her, once more, hasten to 
France and think of him only as one long dead, 
Richard suggests she make people weep by the 
sad tale of the deposing of a King. 

It is while he is still talking, that Northumber- 
land comes to tell him Bolingbroke has changed his 
mind, for he is sending him to Pomfret, and is 
shipping his wife directly to France. Turning to 



74 Tragedy of King Richard II 

this messenger, — whom he bitterly stigmatises as the 
'ladder wherewithal the mounting Bolingbroke' as- 
cended his throne, — Richard warns him the time will 
come when the new monarch will seem ungrateful, 
and when he will be deemed so presumptuous that 
Bolingbroke will put him out of the way ! Without 
heeding this prophesy, Northumberland repeats that 
King and Queen must part, whereupon Richard 
wails a double divorce has been pronounced, since he 
is now separated both from his crown and from 
his wife! Then, bidding the Queen farewell, he 
repeats their ways henceforth must lie apart, a de- 
cree she fails to understand, for she piteously pleads 
either to share his captivity or to be granted his 
company in exile. When Northumberland explains 
this cannot be, a pathetic farewell takes place be- 
tween the royal couple, who reluctantly separate, 
Richard exclaiming 'the rest let sorrow say,' for 
he feels no words can express the anguish of his 
heart. 

The next scene Is played in the palace of the Duke 
of York, where his wife makes him describe all he 
has seen, and how dethroned Richard was Insulted 
in the streets of London, while Bolingbroke was 
eagerly acclaimed. When the Duchess Inquires how 
Richard behaved under such trying circumstances, 
York praises his gentleness and dignity, saying had 
not all hearts been steeled against him, they would 
surely have relented at such a sight. He has just 
concluded they are now Bolingbroke's subjects, when 
his son Aumerle comes In, and Is playfully greeted 
by the title the new King has given him. Asked 
by the Duchess what signs of spring he can dis- 



Tragedy of King Richard II 75 

cern, Aumerle replies indifferently; meanwhile his 
father, scanning him closely, and noticing a seal 
hang from a document concealed in his bosom, sud- 
denly demands what it may be? To avert trouble 
between father and son, the Duchess suggests it is 
some trifling matter in regard to the coronation, an 
explanation so far from satisfactory to York, that 
he forcibly plucks the document from his son's bosom, 
and after perusing it gasps it is 'foul treason,' and 
that Aumerle is a villain ! Then, hastily summon- 
ing a servant, York calls for horse and boots, swear- 
ing he will impeach the villain, a threat his wife 
fails to comprehend until Aumerle exclaims such a 
move on his father's part will cost his life. 

Even while York is preparing to depart, the 
Duchess implores him not to destroy their only son, 
but York exclaims he must go, since he has just 
learned that a dozen lords are bound by oath to 
slay the deposed King. When the Duchess promises 
to keep her son at home to prevent his taking part 
in any such plot, the Duke mutters he is none the 
less guilty, and hurries away in spite of her tears. 
Seeing him depart, the Duchess feverishly urges 
Aumerle to seize his father's horse so as to reach 
Bolingbroke first, and secure pardon before the Duke 
arrives, promising to follow, herself, so as to add her 
entreaties to his. 

The rising curtain next reveals the royal palace, 
where Bolingbroke is inquiring of the courtiers 
whether any news has been received of his 'un- 
thrifty son,' who is said to frequent low company 
in taverns, to play highwayman, and actually to rob 
inoffensive travellers! He then discovers that Percy 



76 Tragedy of King Richard II 

met the Prince two days ago, and told him of the 
jousting at Oxford, only to hear him deride court 
amusements. After lamenting his son's present dis- 
soluteness, Bolingbroke avers: 'I see some sparks of 
better hope, which elder years may happily bring 
forth,' just as Aumerle bursts in, begging for a 
private audience. In response to a sign from Bol- 
ingbroke, Percy and the Lords withdraw, and Au- 
merle, having locked the door, falls at the King's 
feet, vowing he will not speak until pardon is 
promised him. 

York now arrives and finding the door locked, 
loudly calls for admission, warning the King to be- 
ware of a traitor. At these words, Bolingbroke 
draws his sword, although Aumerle immediately as- 
sures him he need not fear. At a renewed appeal 
from York for admittance, the King himself opens 
the door, Inquiring what danger threatens? Then 
York sadly bids him read the paper he snatched 
from his son's bosom, while Aumerle piteously re- 
minds him of his promise to forgive everything. 
After perusing this paper, Bolingbroke shows signs 
of horror, while York vows the execution of this 
plot would have been his death blow, and demands 
that his son be punished for being implicated in it. 

Before Bolingbroke can answer, the Duchess 
knocks, exclaiming that as aunt of the King, she, too, 
is entitled to a hearing. Bidding Aumerle admit 
her, Bolingbroke hears York clamour for the cutting 
off of 'this festered joint,' a plea the Duchess pas- 
sionately Implores him to disregard, although her 
husband reproves her for interceding for a traitor. 
But, yielding to her motherly fears, the Duchess 



Tragedy of King Richard II 77 

falls at the King's feet, refusing to rise until he 
grant her request, a prayer in which Aumerle joins 
her, while his father begs the King not to heed 
them. 

Hearing this, the Duchess assures the monarch 
York is secretly hoping to be denied, ere she again be- 
seeches for her son's pardon. Wishing to temporise, 
Bolingbroke bids her rise, only to hear her repeat 
she will never do so until the word 'pardon' falls 
from his lips, whereupon, York sarcastically sug- 
gests he use the French *pardonne-moi' (meaning 
excuse me) while the Duchess reproaches him for 
mocking a heart-broken mother. Her entreaties be- 
come so passionate that Bolingbroke finally pro- 
nounces Aumerle forgiven. Overcome with joy, 
the Duchess then terms him *a god on earth,' and 
does not even notice when he adds that although 
Aumerle is forgiven, pardon will not be extended 
to the rest of the conspirators, whom he bids his 
uncle apprehend, just as mother and son leave his 
presence. 

In the same apartment a while later, Exton 
wonderingly asks a servant whether he, too, did 
not hear the King mutter, 'Have I no friend who 
will rid me of this living fear?' repeating the sen- 
tence twice, and gazing meaningly the while at him, 
as if he would fain have him take a hint. After 
some hesitation, concluding that Bolingbroke really 
wishes someone to rid him of Richard at Pomfret, 
Exton decides to perform this service. 

We now behold Pomfret castle, where Richard is 
musing in prison on the world and the varied 
thoughts which flit through his brain, thoughts 



78 Tragedy of King Richard II 

which sometimes delude him into believing himself 
still King. These meditations are interrupted by 
music, which he soon declares will drive him mad, 
as it can only be played by one who loves and 
would fain help him. Then a groom is ushered 
in, who, in reply to Richard's inquiry what brings 
him hither, explains he obtained permission to visit 
his former master, a wish he has cherished ever since 
Bolingbroke rode Richard's favourite steed in the 
coronation procession. When the royal prisoner 
eagerly asks how the favourite behaved, and hears 
how proudly he stepped along, he sadly cries even 
his horse has turned traitor, or he would have stum- 
bled or proved restive when ridden by his sup- 
planter ! 

The keeper now enters, ordering the visitor to de- 
part, and invites Richard to eat, although refusing 
to taste the dishes, as usual, under plea that Sir 
Exton has forbidden it. This refusal and what it 
veils, so enrages the deposed Richard, that he beats 
the keeper, whose loud cries for help attract Exton 
with an armed force. Seeing them about to attack 
him, Richard snatches an axe from the foremost man, 
and fights manfully, ere he is cruelly cut down 
by Exton, whom he denounces until he expires. Be- 
holding Richard lifeless at last, Exton repents the 
deed he has just done, and goes out murmuring he 
will bear 'this dead King to the living King.' 

The next scene is played in Windsor Castle, where 
Bolingbroke informs York the rebels have set fire 
to Cicester, and that he does not yet know whether 
they have been apprehended. Then Northumber- 
land enters, and Bolingbroke eagerly inquires what 



Tragedy of King Richard II 79 

news he brings? Just after he has learned four of 
the traitors have been beheaded, Fitzwater appears 
announcing he has disposed of two more, for which 
deed he receives royal thanks. The arrival of 
Percy, reporting the death of the Abbot of West- 
minster, and delivering into the King's keeping the 
Bishop of Carlisle, follows, whereupon Bolingbroke 
orders this rebel to pick out his own retreat, as he 
intends to let him live and die in peace, for he has 
detected 'high sparks of honour' in him. 

Just as this decree has been pronounced, Exton 
appears, closely followed by bearers of a coffin, and 
solemnly reports, 'within this coffin I present 
thy buried fear.' But, instead of the thanks 
he so confidently expects, he is reviled by Boling- 
broke for having done *a deed of slander,' and 
when he vows he merely obeyed orders, is told that 
although Bolingbroke did wish Richard dead, he will 
ever abhor his murderer, whom he bids wander forth 
like Cain, 'through shades of night, and never show 
thy head by day nor light.' Then, turning to his 
assembled court, Bolingbroke — now Henry IV. — 
protests that his soul is so full of woe, that after 
suitably burying Richard, he will 'make a voyage 
to the Holy Land, to wash this blood off from my 
guilty hand,' and bids all escort to the grave 'this 
untimely bier/ 



KING HENRY THE FOURTH 

FIRST PART 

Act I. The first act opens In the palace at Lon- 
don, where King Henry IV., addressing his nobles, 
rejoices because peace being at last concluded at 
home, he can levy forces to undertake the expedition 
to the Holy Land projected twelve months before. 
When he calls upon his cousin, Westmoreland, to 
describe what preparations have been made, this 
nobleman rejoins that the news of Glendower's re- 
bellion In Wales, and of the advantage he won over 
the royal forces under Mortimer, has driven all else 
from his mind. His report of Mortimer's capture, 
convinces the King the Holy Land expedition must 
be postponed, a decision strengthened by Harry Hot- 
spur's defeat of the Scots at Holmedon, whereby he 
has secured many noble captives. Such a victory, 
won by Northumberland's son, fills the King with 
envy, for Prince Hal continues to cause him anxiety 
by riotous living. He therefore wishes they could 
exchange heirs, ere he adds that as the victor refuses 
to give up his prisoners, he has sent for him to ex- 
plain his reasons. Until this point Is settled, all 
thought of Jerusalem must be postponed, as will be 
announced In the council at Windsor. 

The curtain next rises on Prince Harry's apart- 
ment, where Sir John Falstaff, comfortably seated, 
lazily asks the time. His royal host apostrophises 
him in unflattering terms, accusing him of thinking 
of naught, but eating, drinking, and sleeping, abuse 
80 



King Henry the Fourth 8i 

which FalstafE good-naturedly receives, as nothing 
can disturb his Intense self-satisfaction. He drawl- 
Ingly requests Harry, when King, to dub highway- 
men only 'Diana's Foresters,' and pardon Instead of 
prosecuting them for despoiling unwary travellers. 
The Prince, who has accompanied FalstafE on many 
thieving expeditions, and hence knows his habits, 
describes how recklessly he squanders his Ill-gotten 
gains, until Falstaff turns the conversation by men- 
tioning the mistress of the Tavern, whereupon this 
strangely assorted pair exchange rough jokes and 
witticisms. Then, resuming the previous theme, Fal- 
staff begs Harry never to hang a thief when he is 
King; but when the Prince retorts he'll let him do 
it, he Immediately begins to plume himself upon the 
judicial dignity with which he will sentence male- 
factors! Waxing maudlin with many potations, 
Falstaff next sentimentally accuses the Prince of 
corrupting him, claiming total innocence of evil be- 
fore making his acquaintance, and vowing he will 
reform and henceforth lead a virtuous life. But, 
when the Prince casually inquires where they are 
to rob on the morrow, the fat knight displays such 
alacrity to participate In any such undertaking, that 
it becomes evident his promises of amendment are 
mere talk, and he loudly protests when the Prince ac- 
cuses him of fickleness, that it is no sin for a man 
to practise his vocation. 

The entrance of their companion, Poins, creates a 
diversion, but, after greeting them both, Poins, — 
who knows Sir John's weaknesses, — jocosely In- 
quires whether he is experiencing remorse? Then, 
he reports that a number of pilgrims and traders 



82 King Henry the Fourth 

are to pass through Gadshill, where It will be easy 
to waylay and relieve them of their fat purses. Such 
a prospect so charms Falstaff, that he expresses in- 
dignant disgust when the Prince refuses to join 
them. Seeing Falstaff's persuasions are of no avail, 
Poins asserts that if left alone with the Prince, he 
will soon induce him to change his mind, a state of 
affairs so desirable, that Falstaff leaves the room, 
accompanied by their facetious farewells. When he 
has gone, Poins slily reveals that he requires help 
to play a trick upon Falstaff, who with three 
of the highwaymen will hold up the travellers. 
While they are dividing the booty, Poins suggests 
he and the Prince surprise and rob the thieves; for 
he has provided the necessary disguises, and antici- 
pates no resistance, knowing his friends do not shine 
by their courage. The best part of the joke he 
avers, however, will be the thrilling tales Falstaff 
will tell in regard to this affair, for he is an in- 
veterate boaster and most artistic liar. The fun 
this adventure promises, induces the Prince to meet 
Poins on the morrow, and help carry out the prac- 
tical joke. But, when Poins has gone, the Prince 
soliloquises he will act like the sun, which, although 
sometimes obscured by clouds, emerges In all Its glory 
when the right moment comes. He fancies the 
contrast between his present 'loose behaviour,' and 
the dignity he intends to assume when King, will 
prove equally striking, and adds. Til so offend, to 
make offence a skill ; redeeming time when men think 
least I will.' 

The next scene Is again played In the palace, where 
the King Is vowing that although, hitherto, patient 



King Henry the Fourth 83 

to a fault, he will now show he Is master! This 
threat Is hurled at Worcester, who protests his house 
little deserves such severity, only to be banished from 
court until sent for. This Insubordinate subject 
gone, Northumberland Informs King Henry his son, 
Hotspur, had no Intention of refusing to surrender 
his prisoners after Holmedon, an assurance the culprit 
confirms, explaining how a perfumed courtier came 
to demand them In the King's name, and behaved 
in so offensive a manner that an angry retort escaped 
him! A courtier present, avers that under such cir- 
cumstances, hot words were perfectly excusable, al- 
though the King reiterates Hotspur refused to sur- 
render the prisoners unless he ransomed Mortimer, 
captive of Glendower, his father-in-law. The 
thought of having to disburse a large sum to ransom 
a traitor, makes Henry IV. assert that any man 
advising such a move Is not his friend. 

Hearing Mortimer styled a traitor and rebel, Hot- 
spur waxes Indignant, and describes how bravely 
Mortimer and Glendower fought on the banks of 
the Severn, although the King, sure no such en- 
counter ever took place, refuses to hear the man's 
name again, and reiterates that unless Hotspur sur- 
render his prisoners Immediately he will Incur royal 
displeasure. Thereupon Henry and his train leave 
the apartment, while Hotspur Indignantly declares he 
will not obey, and Is only with difficulty restrained 
from following the monarch to tell him so to his 
face. 

While father and son are still talking, Worcester 
enters, and hears his nephew. Hotspur, swear to 
shed every drop of blood In his body, If necessary, 



84 King Henry the Fourth 

to raise 'down-trod Mortimer' as high as upstart 
Bolingbroke! This anger surprises his uncle, until 
he hears the nature of the King's demand. But, 
cooler than his kinsman, he explains that Henry 
refused ransom mainly because Mortimer had been 
proclaimed Richard II.'s heir, and hence can boast 
a better claim to the throne than Bolingbroke him- 
self. The fact that Mortimer was made heir to 
the crown before Richard sailed for Ireland, is news 
to Hotspur, who now readily understands Henry's 
refusal. But, when he indignantly asks whether 
Worcester and Northumberland, — who crowned 
Bolingbroke — will suffer themselves to be scorned 
and set aside by the very man they raised to the 
throne, and suggests they should seek revenge, Wor- 
cester silences him, revealing under seal of secrecy, 
that many nobles are discontented and that a perilous 
plot is even now afoot. 

This news delights Hotspur, whose enterprising 
spirit longs 'to pluck bright honour from the pale 
faced moon,' and whose enthusiastic tirade is 
checked only by Worcester's reminder of his Scot- 
tish prisoners. He swears, however, he will not 
surrender a single one of them, because the King has 
refused to ransom Mortimer, whose name he trusts 
will hereafter haunt royal slumbers! Then he 
solemnly eschews all study, save 'how to gall and 
pinch this Bolingbroke,' and becomes so excited that 
uncle and father refuse to treat further with him 
unless he subside into a more reasonable temper. 
The remembrance of the homage he proffered to Bol- 
ingbroke before Berkeley castle, drives Hotspur 
nearly mad, until his uncle suggests he can take his 



King Henry the Fourth 85 

revenge by freeing his prisoners, raising an army 
in Scotland, and securing the support of the arch- 
bishop of York, who is anxious to avenge the death 
of his brother. Scroop. This plan delights Hotspur, 
who suggests that the powers of Scotland and York 
join Mortimer, which plan Worcester opines must 
be carried out speedily if they wish to save their 
heads. They therefore part, Worcester promising 
to join Glendower and Mortimer when the time Is 
ripe, sending Hotspur word when and where to meet 
them; a moment the hot youth longs for, since he 
exclaims, 'O, let the hours be short till fields and 
blows and groans applaud our sport!' 

Act H. The second act opens by night, in the 
inn yard at Rochester, where carriers with lanterns 
preparing to set out again, give orders to the hostler. 
After finding fault with the road, their accommoda- 
tions, and the fleas, they mention goods they must 
deliver, just as one of the highwaymen enters and 
tries to borrow their lantern. Too wary to lose 
sight of their property, these men nevertheless un- 
suspectingly answer his questions, ere they hurry ofE 
to rouse the merchants who wish to travel in their 
company for safeguard. Meantime, the highway- 
man has an Interview with one of his allies, — a 
servant at the Inn, — ^who reports the amount the 
travellers carry, and cautions him to beware of the 
hangman. In reply, he Is jocosely told In case he 
hang, Falstaff will hang with him, and that his com- 
pany is formed of gentlemen, who 'will strike sooner 
than speak, and speak sooner than drink, and drink 
sooner than pray.' He adds that having 'fern-seed' 
in their shoes they walk Invisible, a statement the 



86 King Henry the Fourth 

servant doubts, ere he bustles out to order a horse, 
for the highwayman wishes to leave before the 
travellers. ' 

We next see the public highway, near Gadshlll, 
at the moment when the Prince and Polns arrive at 
the trystlng-spot, after removing FalstafE's horse to 
another place. As they have foreseen, Falstaff re- 
sents this proceeding, for his huge bulk makes walk- 
ing difficult. With his usual volubility, Falstaff 
swears Poins has bewitched him, for although he has 
vowed any number of times in the past twenty years 
to have nothing more to do with him, he still fre- 
quents his company. As 'eight yards of uneven 
ground is threescore and ten mile afoot' for him, he 
loudly calls for his horse, refusing meantime, to lay 
his ear to the ground as the Prince suggests, under 
plea he could never get up again! 

By refusing to play hostler for him, the Prince in- 
curs FalstafE's voluble wrath, ere they are joined by 
three companions. Then, after some discussion in 
regard to the money they hope to take from the 
travellers, all don their disguises, and scatter to their 
posts, the Prince and Poins stealing farther down 
the road to intercept such victims as escape from 
their companion's clutches. Soon, the travellers ap- 
pear, and dismount to lead their horses safely down 
the hill; but, suddenly called to stand and deliver, 
they helplessly wail they are undone, and allow 
themselves to be bound, while Falstaff pours out a 
volley of oaths. In a trice the travellers' pockets are 
emptied and the thieves disappear to divide their 
spoil. A moment later the Prince remarks to Poins 
that 'the thieves have bound the true men,' and that 



King Henry the Fourth 87 

if they can only bind the thieves in turn, their trick 
will succeed. Just then the four thieves come back, 
and the Prince and Poins retire to the bushes, and 
overhear Falstaff call them cowards and decline to 
share the booty with them. It is all spread out on 
a rock, about which the thieves are gathered, when 
the Prince and Poins, rushing out from the thicket, 
seize it, putting their companions to flight with a few 
harmless blows. Then the Prince laughingly ex- 
claims that they secured their booty with ease, for 
the thieves are running madly, and Falstaff lards 
the lean earth'; ere he goes off with Poins, gloating 
over the memory of roars the fat knight emitted as 
he fled. 

The next scene is played in Warkworth Castle, 
where Hotspur is reading a letter, warning him his 
purpose is dangerous, seeing the opposition he is likely 
to meet. Such cautions incense Hotspur, who deems 
his plan is an excellent one, because it is upheld by 
Douglas, Mortimer, Glendower, and York, all of 
whom are prepared to fight the King. When Hot- 
spur's wife joins him, he informs her he is leaving 
in two hours' time, whereat she exclaims he has been 
unlike himself for some time past, has talked in his 
sleep as if he were leading armies, and has concealed 
something from her. When she inquires what it all 
means. Hotspur, instead of answering, calls a servant 
to ascertain whether his message has been delivered, 
and a horse provided for him to ride? On hearing 
a roan steed awaits him. Hotspur utters his famous 
battle cry 'Esperance' and vows this animal shall be 
his throne! The servant having gone, his wife 
vainly pleads for an explanation, holding him fast 



88 King Henry the Fourth 

by his little finger, which she playfully threatens to 
break when he tries to escape her. In spite of all 
this pleading, Hotspur refuses to confide in her, 
teasingly telling her, — ^when mounted, — that she will 
surely not reveal what she does not know ! He adds, 
however, that she is to follow him on the morrow, 
as he does not wish to be long parted from her. 

The following scene is played in Boar's Head tav- 
ern, where the Prince is telling Poins how he has been 
hobnobbing with the waiters, whose talk so amuses 
him that he suggests interviewing one of them, while 
Poins keeps calling for him, predicting that the man 
will mechanically answer nothing but 'anon, anon!' 
A most ridiculous scene ensues, wherein all the 
Prince's questions are met by stereotyped responses to 
Poins* calls. Finally the hostess orders the waiter 
off to attend customers, and the Prince and Poins re- 
sume their conversation, whence we glean that Fal- 
staff and his companions are about due, and that an 
amusing account of the night's adventures is pending. 

A moment later Falstaff, and his friends enter, 
closely followed by a waiter to take their orders. 
When Poins inquires where they have been, Falstaff 
dubs him a coward, and while greedily quafBng sack, 
allows the Prince to rally him. Finally Falstaff 
boasts there are not three good men left In England, 
adding sentimentally that 'one of them Is fat and 
grows old,' ere he derides the Prince for running 
away, calling him and his companion cowards, with 
loud oaths Interspersing his deep potations. After a 
little discussion, the Prince succeeds In starting Fal- 
staff boasting about the sum he and his companions 
secured, although he has to confess when asked to 



King Henry the Fourth 89 

exhibit the booty, that it was taken from him by a 
hundred men! When called upon to precise mat- 
ters, Falstaff describes with infinite volubility how 
valiantly he fought, for two hours with a dozen 
rogues, how many thrusts his garments received, and 
exhibits a sword as hacked as if it had been through 
many wars! 

By pretending a desire for further information, the 
Prince induces him to relate how he and his com- 
rades held up sixteen men, although his companions 
occasionally contradict him. Then he describes how 
six or seven more attacked him, vowing in the next 
breath, that he faced no less than fifty-three rabid 
men, and parried their blows until two rogues in 
buckram were laid low. A moment later, forgetting 
the lie he has just told, he mentions four rogues in 
buckram, whose seven sword points he had to face! 
The Prince calling his attention to the discrepancies 
in his account, Falstaff becomes so excited, that 
eleven buckram men soon grow out of two. Hear- 
ing this, the Prince coolly declares 'these lies are 
like their father that begets them ; gross as a moun- 
tain, open, palpable,' and having listened to all Fal- 
staff has to say, turns the tables by giving a succinct 
account of what really occurred. 

Instead of blushing at the many lies he has told, 
Falstaff now ciaims he ran away simply because it 
did not become him to fight the Heir Apparent, and 
prides himself upon having been *a coward by in- 
stinct.' So determined is he to set his doings in a 
favourable light, that he out-talks the Prince, just as 
the hostess announces that the King requires his son's 
presence. Doubting the genuineness of the message, 



90 King Henry the Fourth 

Falstaff goes out to see about it, while the Prince 
wrings from the other highwaymen an admission that 
they did not recognise him, — as Falstaff claims, — 
that they ran away because frightened, and that Fal- 
staff hacked his sword with his own dagger, so as 
to be able to exhibit it while telling his tale. When 
Falstaff reenters, therefore, the Prince addresses him 
as 'my sweet creature of bombast,' and mockingly 
Inquiring how long it Is since he has seen his knees? 
After good-naturedly replying he has not performed 
that feat since early youth, Falstaff adds Hotspur 
and Glendower are In open rebellion, imparting his 
Information only with difficulty, because the Prince 
constantly Interrupts him. Nevertheless, the fact 
that war Is so Imminent evidently pleases the Prince, 
for he makes fun of the rebels and especially of 
Hotspur. 

Warning Prince Hal he will be taken to task on 
appearing before his father on the morrow, Falstaff 
implores him to prepare to answer charges, and even 
volunteers to pose as King and question him. 
This being decided, a burlesque scene takes place, 
wherein Falstaff, — as monarch, — warns the Prince 
against all his companions, except a certain Virtuous 
man' named Falstaff, whom he extravagantly praises. 
Then, as the Prince finds fault with his rendering 
of the King's part, they suddenly change places, and 
the Prince, — as King, — denounces Harry's boon com- 
panion Falstaff, although the victim of his scathing 
satire, — as Prince, — pathetically begs not to be 
parted from 'sweet Jack Falstaff!' 

Shortly after a knock calls some of the spectators 
away, and Bardolph soon returns to report that the 



King Henry the Fourth 91 

sheriff is at the door; tidings which the terrified 
hostess breathlessly confirms. Afraid to be taken 
to task for the night's wild doings, all now vanish, 
except the Prince and one of his companions, 
who boldly face the sheriff and carrier, coming in 
quest of a man easily recognisable by his bulk. 
Promising Falstaff shall appear in court on the mor- 
row, to face the charge of robbing travellers, the 
Prince dismisses sheriff and carrier, and then seeks 
Falstaff, whom he discovers asleep behind the arras. 
As a practical joke, Prince Hal rifles the sleeper's 
pockets, finding nothing therein save a table-bill, 
wherein enormous quantities of meat and drink are 
poorly offset by the smallest possible modicum of 
bread. Then the Prince departs, vowing Falstaff 
will shortly have to accompany him to war, on foot, 
for he proposes to make him captain of an infantry 
corps. 

Act III. The third act opens in the archdea- 
con's house at Bangor, where the conspirators — 
Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer and Glendower, — 
have assembled to discuss their prospects of success 
in the coming encounter with the King's troops. 
Like a superstitious Welshman, Glendower men- 
tions the phenomena which accompanied his birth, 
portents the sceptic Hotspur contemptuously avers 
which would have been the same had only kittens 
been born! When Glendower attributes the con- 
vulsions to which the earth is subject to miraculous 
causes, Mortimer insists they are purely natural, 
and ridicules him because he claims he can call up 
spirits from the mystic deep. Checking a discus- 
sion which threatens to degenerate into a quarrel, 



92 King Henry the Fourth 

Mortimer creates a diversion by showing on the 
map how England has been divided into three parts, 
over which they are to rule. Although dissatisfied 
with their respective shares, the conspirators finally 
agree to unite forces, and try issues with the King at 
Shrewsbury, where they mention their wives will 
join them. 

Before they separate, however, another dispute 
arises, due to Hotspur's determination to change 
the course of a river so as to win a desirable in- 
crease of land. When in the midst of the quarrel, 
he taunts Glendower with not speaking intelligible 
English, the Welshman declares he speaks it well, 
— having been trained at the English court before he 
yields to his rival's demands. Still, when Glendower 
has gone, his son-in-law Mortimer cautions Hotspur 
not to provoke him too far, advice Worcester has 
barely approved when the ladies appear under the 
Welshman's escort. Strange to relate, Mortimer 
and his wife are unable to talk to each other, for he 
speaks nothing but English and she nothing but 
Welsh ; so, to explain to her that their coming part- 
ing will not be long, he has to make her father inter- 
pret. Kisses, however, prove more eloquent than 
translated speeches, and the lady soon beguiles her 
husband to lie down on the rushes, his head in her 
lap, while she sings him to sleep, a gratification he 
does not refuse her, although this sentimental atti- 
tude seems to amuse Hotspur and his wife, who 
watch them both. After listening for a while to the 
Welsh lady's song, Percy bids his wife farewell, and 
leaves just before the rest, who seem less eager for 
the fray. 




>- " 

(X ^ 

z 2 



King Henry the Fourth 93 

We now behold the palace at London, where 
the King dismisses his courtiers to confer in pri- 
vate with the Prince of Wales. When they are 
alone, Henry gravely reproaches Harry for his low 
tastes, — a reproof the Prince tamely accepts, begging 
pardon for all he has done amiss. Then the King 
tells him how his younger brother has been filling 
his place, and implores him to win the good opinion 
of the people, for it is by such means, he, Boling- 
broke, rose to the throne and ousted Richard. The 
Prince promising amendment, the King next in- 
forms him the positions he and Hotspur respectively 
occupy are about the same as Richard and himself 
once filled, adding that Hotspur may some day dis- 
pute Harry's crown since he has secured powerful 
allies. 

The Prince then volunteers to fight the rebels, 
promising to prove on Hotspur's head, that he, — 
Bolingbroke's unworthy son — is the rebel's superior, 
and thereby win forgiveness for a rakish past. This 
private conference, closing so satisfactorily for both, 
is interrupted by the announcement that the rebels 
will be at Shrewsbury on the eleventh. On hear- 
ing this news, the King gives immediate orders for 
the van of his troops to proceed thither, promising 
to follow shortly with his son and the rest, and clos- 
ing this memorable conference with the words: 
'let's away; advantage feeds him fat, while men 
delay.' 

In the Boar's Head Inn, FalstafE is meantime 
explaining to Bardolph how thin he has grown and 
how virtuous, although he admits it is long since he 
has seen the inside of a church. Because his com- 



94 King Henry the Fourth 

panlon ventures to differ with him, Falstaff describes 
him in unflattering terms, mentioning particularly 
his very red nose, whence a lively quarrel is brew- 
ing when the hostess comes in. On seeing her, Fal- 
staff demands whether she has found out who rifled 
his pockets of valuables while he slept? Although 
the hostess anxiously assures him, hers Is an honest 
house, he taunts her, until she angrily claims the 
money he owes her, not only for board but for the 
very garments he wears, she having advanced funds 
to supply them. After some demur, Falstaff again 
insists that a valuable ring was taken from his 
pocket, whereupon the hostess exclaims the Prince 
often declared it was copper! 

Falstaff is just abusing Harry roundly, when the 
latter appears. After making the fat knight 
enumerate the valuable objects he claims to have 
lost, and after giving the hostess' version of the 
affair full attention, the Prince pitilessly reveals how 
he rifled Falstaff's pockets, giving a strictly truth- 
ful account of all he found in them. Unable to 
persecute the hostess any longer on this score, 
Falstaff magnanimously forgives her. Inquiring 
after she has gone, how the affair of robbery has 
been settled? The Prince replies the stolen money 
has been returned, that he and his father are now 
friends, and that Falstaff Is to have a 'charge of 
foot,' although the knight eloquently beseeches him 
to exchange it for one of horse. Without heeding 
his objections, the Prince bids Bardolph deliver 
three letters he hands him, and then calls for his 
steed. He finally orders Falstaff to meet him on 
the morrow, so as to receive money and orders, for 



King Henry the Fourth 95 

they must soon be ready to oppose the rebels, and 
'either we or they must lower lie.' 

Act IV. The fourth act opens in the rebel 
camp near Shrewsbury, where Hotspur is talking 
to Worcester and Douglas, of whom he thoroughly 
approves, and whose praise he bespeaks in return. 
A moment later, a messenger brings him a letter, 
stating his father is too ill to join him. Somewhat 
frightened by such news, Hotspur is further dis- 
mayed to learn that their purposes have been re- 
vealed to the King, and that a number of the ad- 
herents they confidently expected, have refused to 
join them. That so important a contingent as his 
father's should fail at the appointed trysting-spot is 
a crippling blow, and they are still discussing this 
defection, when another messenger reports the ap- 
proach of royal forces, under Westmoreland and 
Prince John, soon to be followed by more under 
the King. 

When Hotspur mockingly inquires where the 
Prince of Wales may be, he is informed Prince Hal 
is coming against him in all the panoply of war. 
Vowing that all who come are to be sacrificed to the 
God of War, Hotspur picks out as his special op- 
ponent the doughty Prince of Wales, with whom he 
wishes to measure swords. He has just concluded 
a fiery peroration with a hope that Glendower will 
soon appear, when the messenger tells him the 
Welsh cannot come for a fortnight at least, a de- 
lay fatal to Hotspur who has but a small force to 
oppose to that of the King. 

On a public road near Coventry we next behold 
Falstaflfj plodding wearily along with his men, and 



g6 King Henry the Fourth 

sending Bardoiph on ahead to make sure of his 
finding plenty of sack on arriving at the next inn. 
As usual, Falstaff bids his man disburse all that is 
necessary, promising to pay all his debts at once. 
Left alone, Falstaff then admits he is ashamed of his 
men, having for economy's sake, recruited from the 
dregs of London, men whose very appearance is 
pitiful and disreputable, only a shirt and a half being 
discoverable in the whole company! The Prince 
coming up at this juncture, taunts Falstaif with 
being 'blown,' a charge the fat knight indignantly 
denies, ere greeting Westmoreland, who accompanies 
Harry. This general expresses a desire to hasten 
on, as the King doubtless expects them; but al- 
though professing great desire to progress as rapidly 
as possible, FalstafE claims to be hampered by his 
troop, which, however, he considers suitable 'food 
for powder,' since it 'will fill a pit as well as better.* 
The curtain falls as all hasten to join the royal 
force. 

We return to the rebel camp, where Hotspur 
and his companions discuss the likelihood of a 
fight that day, Hotspur being inclined to force it, 
while his allies prefer to delay issues until they feel 
stronger. But, when taunted with cowardice for 
holding off, they indignantly offer to follow 
Hotspur's lead, although some of their men are 
weary from long marching, and others have not 
yet appeared. Hotspur has a ready answer to all 
their objections, until a trumpet blast announces 
that the King wishes to hold parley with the rebels. 
A moment later Blunt appears, and after a gracious 
greeting from Hotspur, announces that the King 



King Henry the Fourth 97 

has sent to inquire the rebels' grievances, promising 
to redress them provided they immediately return 
to their allegiance. In his reply, Hotspur states 
that the King, — who owes his present elevation to 
them, — came to England claiming only his patri- 
mony, but that his ambitions soon waxed so great 
that nothing save the crown would content him. 
He complains that after depriving Richard of his 
throne, Henry refused to redeem Mortimer, dis- 
missed his father in disgrace, and by violating all 
his promises, forced them to seek redress arms in 
hand. But, when Blunt inquires whether he is to 
deliver this intemperate answer to the King, Hot- 
spur decides to wait until the morrow, and let his 
uncle bear his reply to Henry IV. 

The next scene is played in the archbishop's 
palace at York, where he is sealing letters to be im- 
mediately delivered. When his messenger hints 
he can guess their purport, the archbishop bids him 
urge all to hasten to Shrewsbury, where their for- 
tunes are to be put to the test; although, owing to 
Northumberland's illness and Glendower's absence, 
their forces are too small to oppose the King's suc- 
cessfully. When the messenger proudly names the 
powerful lords siding with Hotspur, the archbishop 
replies only Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas and Ver- 
non are there to oppose the Prince of Wales, his 
brother, Westmoreland, and Blunt, all of whom ar- 
rived with large contingents. It is to reinforce 
Hotspur's troops, that the archbishop has written 
these letters, which he bids his messenger deliver 
promptly, for if Hotspur is defeated, the King will 
press right on to York. 



98 King Henry the Fourth 

Act V. The fifth act opens in the King's camp 
near Shrewsbury, where Henry IV. marks a red 
sunrise, and the Prince a wind presaging a blustery 
day, ere the trumpets sound. A moment later 
Worcester and Vernon appear, bringing Hotspur's 
answer, and are haughtily greeted by Henry, who 
reproaches them with having deceived him. There- 
upon Worcester, — defending himself, — -boldly re- 
minds Henry of his and his family's services on 
Bolingbroke's arrival in England, when he swore 
he claimed naught save his rights, although he was 
already aiming at the throne! When Worcester 
adds that since his accession, Henry has proved 
both ungrateful and overbearing, the monarch 
haughtily rejoins such is the talk rebels ever hold, 
and the Prince of Wales sends a formal challenge 
inviting Hotspur to meet him in single fight and 
settle the coming battle without further bloodshed. 
This knightly challenge is approved by the King, 
who adds that all who submit will be freely for- 
given, an assurance he bids the emissaries publish 
immediately in their camp. 

Both Worcester and Vernon having gone, Prince 
Harry exclaims he feels sure Hotspur will insist 
upon a battle, whereupon his father sends the 
leaders to their posts so they can attack the foe at 
the very first signal. All therefore leave the stage 
save Harry and Falstaff, the latter imploring his 
princely friend to 'bestride him' should he be 
knocked down in battle! Mockingly retorting that 
none save a colossus could bestride such bulk as his, 
the Prince bids him farewell and departs, leaving 
FalstafE in a melancholy mood, for he is not anxious 



King Henry the Fourth 99 

to die. After a brief soliloquy, — wherein he bal- 
ances the claims of honour and prudence, — Falstaff 
decides honour will have to go to the wall, ere he 
follows the rest to take part in the coming fray. 

We are now transferred to the rebel camp, where 
Worcester cautions Vernon not to impart to Hot- 
spur Henry's liberal offer, urging the King would 
never keep his promise, and would continue to mis- 
trust them. He adds that whereas Hotspur's re- 
bellion might be forgotten in time in favour of his 
youth, their own would live forever in Boling- 
broke's memory. For this reason Vernon bids him 
report whatever he deems best, promising to con- 
firm his words, just as Hotspur joins them with his 
Scotch ally. Both are merely told, therefore, the 
King will presently meet them in battle, whereupon 
the Scot, anxious to dispatch a challenge, hastens 
away, while Hotspur and Worcester continue the 
conversation. Because Worcester represents the 
King as unjust towards those he terms rebels, Hot- 
spur feels compelled to fight. Then Douglas re- 
turns, announcing he has dispatched his challenge 
and that they must arm without delay. Thereupon 
Worcester relates how the Prince of Wales defied 
Hotspur, who ardently wishes they might settle the 
matter between them, without involving any one 
else. When he anxiously asks whether the Prince's 
defiance was sent in contempt, he is assured by 
Vernon It was delivered most courteously, and that 
Harry showed himself a Prince of whom England 
would have cause to be proud should he survive this 
encounter. The praise he thus lavishes upon 
Prince Hal, nettles Hotspur, who grimly vows he 



lOO King Henry the Fourth 

will embrace this antagonist with a soldier's arm 
until he makes him shrink! As he is about to arm, 
a messenger brings him letters he has no time to 
read, for the royal troops are already advancing. It 
is uttering his war cry, 'Esperance,' and bidding all 
do their best, that Hotspur sets out amid the din 
of trumpets. 

The next scene is played on the battle-field, be- 
tween both camps, where Blunt is attacked by 
Douglas, who takes him for the King, for sundry 
courtiers are wearing armour like Henry's to 
mislead the foe. Summoned to surrender, Blunt 
haughtily declines, so well keeping up the delusion 
that he is the monarch, that when he falls, the 
Scotchman proudly informs the approaching Hot- 
spur Henry IV. is slain! But Hotspur, knowing 
the King well, soon discovers the mistake, and 
Douglas hastens away, vowing he will kill all the 
kings on the battle-field, since a number of knights 
are incased in royal armour. 

Both he and Hotspur are out of sight, when 
Falstaff appears, hot and tired, having led his force 
Into battle with such brilliant success, that most 
of his men are slain. Coming up just then, the 
Prince begs the loan of Falstaff's sword, paying 
little heed when the fat man boasts he has slain 
Hotspur. On learning, however, that this foe still 
ranges on the battle-field, Falstaff refuses to part 
with his blade, and offers a pistol instead. Putting 
his hand into the case to draw out the desired 
weapon, the Prince is so disgusted to find there only 
a bottle of sack, that he hurls it at Falstaff and 
dashes off. Thus left alone, Falstaff vows should 



King Henry the Fourth loi 

he meet Hotspur he will slay him, although no such 
meeting will ever come about if he can possibly 
avoid it! 

Meantime, in another part of the field, the King 
is imploring the Prince of Wales to retire and have 
his wounds dressed, a recommendation the youth 
disregards, declaring such scratches as his are of 
no consequence. Instead, he urges all present to 
return to the fray, and then warmly praises 
Prince John, who, although but a stripling, has 
had a pass of arms with Hotspur himself. Fol- 
lowing his brave younger brother, Harry darts away, 
just as Douglas comes up, and perceiving another 
man in royal armour, calls him 'counterfeit' and 
vows to slay him, too! Although King Henry 
boldly declares he is the monarch, whose two sons 
are ranging the battle-field in hopes of meeting 
Douglas and Percy, the Scotchman only half be- 
lieves him, and begins to fight. The King is thus 
in imminent danger, when the Prince of Wales op- 
portunely comes to his rescue, first by challenging 
the Scotchman and then by compelling him to flee. 

Turning to his father. Prince Hal then gives him 
an encouraging report of the battle, and is happy 
to hear Henry acknowledge he has hitherto mis- 
judged him. As the King hurries off to rejoin his 
troops. Hotspur dashes up, and discovering the 
Prince of Wales, fiercely challenges him to fight. 
They are in the midst of an encounter, when Fal- 
staff joins them, and cheers on the Prince, until 
challenged in his turn by Douglas. Feigning death, 
Falstaff promptly sinks to the ground, where Hot- 
spur soon lies beside him, moaning that the Prince 



102 King Henry the Fourth 

of Wales has robbed him of life! While Hot- 
spur dies, Prince Harry moralises on his career, 
bidding him bear his glory to heaven with him, 
while his Ignominy sleeps in his grave. Then, dis- 
covering the huge bulk of Falstaff beside his slain 
adversary, the Prince, after ruefully exclaiming he 
'could have better spared a better man,' promises 
to see him properly burled as soon as the battle is 
over. He has barely gone, however, when Falstaff 
comes to life again, muttering that had he not so 
cleverly feigned death he would not now be alive, 
for according to his creed 'the better part of valour 
is discretion!' Then, seeing Hotspur's corpse be- 
side him, Falstaff, — the inveterate boaster and liar, — 
determines to claim the glory of having killed him, 
and in order to do so with some shadow of truth, 
runs his sword into the lifeless body, which he bears 
off in triumph. 

A moment later the Prince of Wales reappears, 
warmly complimenting his young brother on his 
maiden efforts, and both start on finding themselves 
face to face with Falstaff, whose death Prince Hal 
had just announced. Becoming aware of their pres- 
ence, Falstaff ostentatiously flings Hotspur's corpse 
at their feet, declaring he expects the title of Duke 
or Earl, at least, for ridding them of such a foe! 
When the Prince exclaims he slew Hotspur him- 
self, Falstaff impudently declares that is a lie, and 
describes how he and Percy fought for an hour by 
Shrewsbury clock, asserting by a solemn oath he dealt 
the wound he points at, — the very one he inflicted 
on a lifeless foe. While the younger Prince mar- 
vels at this strange tale, the elder, accustomed to 



King Henry the Fourth 103 

Falstafflan exaggerations, good-naturedly promises to 
gild his *lie with the happiest terms' he has, just 
as retreat resounds. Sure now, that the day is 
theirs, the two Princes depart to ascertain which of 
their friends have survived, while Falstaf? mutters he 
will follow them to secure his reward. 

In another part of the field the King publicly 
proclaims this rebellion rebuked, and turning to 
Worcester reproachfully inquires why he did not 
take advantage of the pardon he offered, and thus 
spare many lives? When Worcester sullenly re- 
joins that he did what his safety urged him to do, 
the King orders him and Vernon beheaded, and 
watches them depart in charge of his guards. Then, 
he learns from the mouth of his heir, how Hotspur 
is slain, and Douglas is a prisoner of whom he 
would like to dispose at will. This privilege granted 
him, the Prince of Wales bids his young brother set 
the Scotchman free without ransom, as reward for 
the bravery he showed in battle, an honour pleasing 
to Prince John, who is further elated when his father 
bids him accompany the forces sent to punish North- 
umberland and the archbishop of York for rising 
against their monarch. Meantime, the King him- 
self and the Prince of Wales propose to turn their 
arms against Glendower, for, having so successfully 
disposed of the worst foes, Henry IV. is determined 
'not to leave till all our own be won.' 



KING HENRY THE FOURTH 

SECOND PART 

Introduction. The goddess of Rumour, with 
her many tongues, appears before the castle of Wark- 
worth, bidding all open wide their ears to hear 
about Henry's victory at Shrewsbury, this news be- 
ing all the more welcome, since she recently pro- 
claimed that Hotspur and Douglas were triumph- 
ing over the royal host. 

Act I. After Rumour has withdrawn, the first 
act opens as Lord Bardolph rides up to the gate 
of Warkworth castle, to beg an audience of North- 
umberland. The porter Is just directing the new- 
comer to the orchard, where his master Is walking, 
when Northumberland himself appears, and eagerly 
inquires for news. In reply, Lord Bardolph, — 
who has met a man riding away from the battle- 
field before the encounter was finished, — reports the 
King, their opponent, mortally wounded, Prince 
Harry slain, the royal army routed, and Falstaff a 
prisoner. This news, almost too good to be true, 
is confirmed by a second messenger, who, however, 
has since heard contradictory reports from a panting 
royal messenger. 

Wondering what to believe, Northumberland 
eagerly welcomes a third emissary, whose tragic 
face partly prepares the unhappy father for the tid- 
ings he Is about to hear. After reporting he comes 
straight from Shrewsbury, this man states. In re- 
ply to Northumberland's breathless inquiry for his 
104 



King Henry the Fourth 105 

son and brother, that his brother still lives, but 
that his son is dead. The bereaved father and the 
first messenger refuse to credit such tidings, until 
they learn how Hotspur was slain by the Prince 
of Wales, how at the news of his fall his forces 
fled, and how Worcester and Douglas were both 
taken prisoners, although the latter slew, with his 
own hand, three of the knights personating the King. 
When the messenger declares the victorious Henry 
IV. is sending forces in this direction under 
Westmoreland and Prince John, Northumberland 
exclaims there will be time to mourn all the rest 
of his life, and that weak and old as he is he must 
now arm in his own defence. He is so shaken by 
passion at this thought, that his companions have to 
remind him many lives depend upon him, and that 
he must decide whether they are to yield or fight. 
To encourage him, the last messenger suggests the 
archbishop will prove a powerful ally, and that not- 
withstanding his son's defeat and death, their party 
may yet triumph. Somewhat stimulated, North- 
umberland invites them all into the castle, where 
they are to take counsel together in regard to their 
safety and revenge. 

In the next scene we behold a street in London, 
along which the portly Falstaff is striding, closely 
followed by a diminutive page bearing his sword 
and buckler. This lad is evidently expected to per- 
form miscellaneous services, since FalstafF demands 
what answer he brings from doctor and tailor, ere 
he inquires for Bardolph, who has gone to buy him a 
horse. Noticing the approach of Chief Justice 
Gascoigne, — who arrested the Prince of Wales for 



io6 King Henry the Fourth 

striking him in court, — the page warns Falstaff, 
who pretends not to see his foe. But, he is promptly 
recognised by the Chief Justice's servant, who re- 
ports he distinguished himself at Shrewsbury, and 
is about to depart for York. On hearing this, the 
Chief Justice expresses a desire to converse with 
Falstaff, who whispers to his page to make believe 
he is deaf. Because Sir John Falstaff pays no heed 
to his words, the Chief Justice's servant finally 
plucks him by the sleeve, only to be reproved for 
begging, and when this man protests Sir John is 
mistaken, the fat knight enters into an elaborate 
argument, ere he condescends to comprehend that 
the Chief Justice wishes to speak to him. 

After greeting the judge w^ith a volubility designed 
to postpone embarrassing questions. Sir John, in- 
stead of accounting for his absence at court, ex- 
patiates on the good news from Wales. His in- 
genious evasions, however, prove useless, for the 
Chief Justice, returning to his theme, chides him for 
misleading the Prince ! Falstaff is evidently not too 
deaf to hear this accusation, since he vehemently de- 
nies it, adding virtuously that he duly reproved the 
Prince for the blow he dealt his father's magistrate. 
When the Chief Justice fervently hopes the Prince 
may hereafter frequent better company, and rejoices 
that Falstaff should be posted in a different army, 
the fat man impudently tries to borrow money from 
him for an outfit. 

The Chief Justice and his servant gone, Fal- 
staff reviles the former for miserliness, before he in- 
quires the state of his finances from his page, who 
assures him he has only seven groats and two pence 



King Henry the Fourth 107 

on hand ! This low ebb in his exchequer causes Fal- 
staff to mutter there is 'no remedy against this con- 
sumption of the purse,' ere he dispatches his page 
with four letters, one of which is addressed to a 
fair dame, whom he rashly swore to marry on dis- 
covering a white hair on his chin ! The page having 
gone, Falstaff complains of gout in his big toe, 
until he gleefully remembers that by 'turning dis- 
ease into commodity,' he can obtain a better pension. 
We are now transferred to the archbishop's palace 
at York, where, after explaining what resources he 
has at command, he asks his partisan's opinion of 
present prospects. Mowbray, learning they have 
only twenty-five thousand men, exclaims their main 
reliance rests upon Northumberland, who has his son 
to avenge. They decide among themselves, how- 
ever, that without Northumberland's cooperation, 
their chances will be as slim as those of Hotspur at 
Shrewsbury, where chance so cruelly deceived him. 
On hearing this statement. Lord Bardolph compares 
their hopes to an architect planning a house beyond 
his means, ere he and his friends again discuss the 
advisability of meeting the royal forces. As some of 
the latter are engaged against the French, and 
against Glendower, they only have to reckon on 
facing a third of the royal army, under the com- 
mand of Westmoreland and Prince John, for the 
King and his eldest son are busy in Wales. Hear- 
ing this, the archbishop favours immediate action, 
remarking that many of those who once disowned 
Richard, would now fain have him back again, in- 
stead of Bolingbroke who so easily supplanted him, 
wherein his companions agree with him, ere the 



io8 King Henry the Fourth 

meeting breaks up and all hasten away to muster 
their troops. 

Act II. The second act opens in a street in 
London, where the hostess Is talking to some officers, 
from whom she is trying to find out whether they 
are going to arrest Sir John Falstaff? On discov- 
ering such is their intention, she cautions them to 
bew^are of violence, as he will spare neither man, 
woman nor child when in a rage! Thinking if he 
can once close with his victim, he can easily get the 
better of him, the sheriff lies in wait for the fat 
knight. Meantime, the hostess volubly expatiates 
upon all she has done for Falstaff, — who always 
puts her off when she calls for a settling of ac- 
counts, — until she sees him draw near with his page 
and Bardolph. Perceiving a knot of acquaintances, 
Falstaff genially greets them, and on being arrested, 
bids Bardolph fling hostess and sheriff into the 
Channel, and overwhelms the officer with such a 
stream of vituperation, that, afraid to lose his prey, 
he loudly calls for aid. 

His cries finally attract the attention of the Chief 
Justice and his men, and when the former demands 
the reason for this commotion, the hostess Implores 
his protection and aid. Seeing Sir John in London, 
when he deemed him well on his way to York, the 
Chief Justice learns he has just been arrested at the 
suit of the hostess, who pathetically claims he has 
eaten her 'out of house and home.' Reproved for 
wronging a poor woman, Falstaff bragglngly de- 
mands the sum of all he owes her, only to be told 
he owes marriage as well as money, having often 
promised it to her. The hostess' evidence proves 



King Henry the Fourth 109 

so circumstantial, that it fully convinces the Chief 
Justice, although Falstaff tries for a time to deny 
her charges. After finally wringing an admission 
from the accused that he is, indeed, in the hostess' 
debt, the Chief Justice sentences Falstaff to pay and 
make amends, in spite of all his protests. 

It is while this dispute is still raging that a mes- 
senger brings the Chief Justice a letter, and reports 
the King and Prince of Wales near at hand. Tak- 
ing sly advantage of the Chief Justice's absorption 
in his correspondence, Falstaff not only persuades the 
hostess to withdraw her action, but to lend him 
more money, and entertain him at supper, she being 
powerless to resist his flattery, and foolishly believ- 
ing he will pay all he owes. So, after humbly in- 
quiring whom he will invite to supper, the hostess 
leaves with Bardolph and the officers, to prepare for 
his entertainment. 

The Chief Justice, having finished reading his let- 
ters, now declares he has received good news, for the 
King is returning, after sending part of his forces 
to join the army attacking Northumberland. Then, 
hearing Sir John invite his messenger to supper, the 
Chief Justice sternly reproves the fat knight for loi- 
tering, when he and his men should already be well 
on their way northward, and goes away. 

In another street in London we behold Prince 
Hal and Poins, the former acknowledging himself 
weary, and confessing to an unprincely longing for 
a drink of small beer! He adds that he knows 
Poins so well, that he could furnish the inventory 
of his wardrobe, which he proceeds to do in a most 
ludicrous manner. When Poins accuses his com- 



no King Henry the Fourth 

panion of displaying more hilarity than becomes a 
Prince whose father is seriously ill, the royal scion 
retorts it would not become him to show his feel- 
ings, since should he weep it would be deemed mere 
hypocrisy, seeing he has been so much with men of 
his interlocuter's and Falstaff's stamp, that nothing 
good or serious is expected of him. 

The entrance of Bardolph and of FalstafE's page, 
— ^on whose ridiculous appearance the Prince com- 
ments, — turns the conversation into another channel, 
and Harry amuses himself by making the lad relate 
a mythological tale, for which he gives him sixpence. 
Next, Bardolph delivers a letter from FalstafE to the 
Prince, who shares its contents with him and Polns, 
commenting freely upon it. To gratify all present, 
Poins next reads aloud a missive wherein the Prince 
is grandiloquently warned to beware of Poins, whose 
sister he is expected to marry, an accusation Poins 
denies. Next, hearing Falstaff is supping at the 
Boar's Head Inn, with the hostess and Doll Tear- 
sheet, the madcap Prince decides to surprise the 
party, bribing all present not to reveal his Inten- 
tions. Then, Bardolph and the page having gone, 
Harry and Poins agree to serve as waiters at Sir 
John's table, the Prince jocosely remarking that 
even great Jove often affected disguises! 

In the next scene we return to Warkworth cas- 
tle, where Northumberland is taking leave of his 
wife and widowed daughter-in-law, bidding them 
cease to trouble him with objections he cannot heed, 
his honour being in pawn, and redeemable only 
by his departure. This reminds Hotspur's widow 
how vainly her husband awaited his coming, and 



King Henry the Fourth iii 

she bitterly exclaims that when Northumberland 
should have gone he was persuaded to remain, 
whereas now he should remain he insists upon go- 
ing! In her sorrow she enthusiastically describes 
Hotspur as 'the mark and glass, copy and book, 
that fashion'd others,' adding that had he been 
properly supported at Shrewsbury he would never 
have suffered defeat. These lamentations so nearly 
unman Northumberland, that he bids her desist, 
and turns a deaf ear when his wife advises him 
to flee to Scotland. But, when Hotspur's wife 
joins in these entreaties, he suddenly decides to take 
their advice, and to remain in Scotland 'till time 
and vantage crave my company.' 

The scene now shifts to the Boar's Head Inn, / 

where two drawers are preparing for Sir John's / 

supper, with due regard to his well-known tastes, / 

while relating humorous anecdotes about him. / 

After mentioning that music is to enliven this 
feast, one of them adds the Prince and Poins will ( 

assume their garb and take their places, whence 
rare fun will probably ensue. A moment later the 
female guest is ushered in by the hostess, who, in 
striving to be genteel, misuses long words while 
addressing her. Soon after Sir John appears, gaily 
humming a tune, carelessly greeting the women, 
and calling for a drink almost in the same breath. 
In the verbal sparring match w^^hich now takes place 
between the knight and Doll Tearsheet, the hostess 
interferes to prevent its degenerating into a quar- 
rel, and all agree to drink together as friends, since 
It is doubtful whether they will ever see FalstafE 
again. Because a waiter enters, announcing that 



112 King Henry the Fourth 

Pistol wishes to speak to Falstaff, Doll Tearsheet 
stigmatises him In so unflattering a manner, that 
the hostess declares so bad a character shall not 
be admitted Into her house. When Falstaff pro- 
tests, the hostess repeats some good advice given 
by her minister, until Falstaff volunteers to answ^er 
for Pistol's good conduct and has him summoned. 
Both ladles are still protesting against his admit- 
tance, w^hen he enters w^ith Bardolph and the page, 
and a punning conversation begins, In which Pistol 
holds his own, although both women attack him. 
But, after a lively encounter of wits, he agrees to 
a truce for drink; still he becomes so angry when 
baited that he threatens the company with his 
sword. This causes FalstaJEE to drive him out at 
the point of his own weapon, a noisy performance 
which the hostess bewails since It brings discredit 
upon her house. 

When Pistol, Bardolph and the page have re- 
treated, the ladles anxiously examine Falstaff, and 
ascertain to their satisfaction that he has not been 
wounded, although Bardolph reports Pistol has not 
fared so well! Proud of his prowesses, Falstaff 
makes mammoth love to Doll Tearsheet, who 
perches on his colossal knee, while listening to the 
music. It Is then that the Prince and Polns, dis- 
guised as waiters, steal In, and listening to the inane 
conversation between Falstaff and Doll, hear the 
fat knight assert Poins and the Prince are friends 
merely because of similarity In size and taste. Fal- 
staff's remarks, however, finally prove so galling to 
his hearers, that they consult together how to be 
revenged, while the knight kisses his fair guest, an 



King Henry the Fourth 113 

amorous performance they deride. When the wily 
Doll assures Falstaff she loves him more than any 
youth, he feels so flattered, that he offers to bestow 
upon her a dress, which she insists she will have 
no heart to wear until he returns in safety. 

In obedience to Falstaff's call for more liquor, 
the new waiters draw near, and are immediately 
recognised, whereupon Falstaff talks with the 
Prince in his usual bombastic strain, wondering at 
his presence here when he deemed him still in 
Wales, and feeling no compunctions for having men- 
tioned him in derogatory terms to Doll Tearsheet. 
In fact, when the Prince demands what he meant 
by abusing him, Sir John vows he did him good 
service by dispraising him before the wicked, a term 
the Prince gallantly declares hardly applicable to 
the present company, who appreciate the compli- 
ment. When Falstaff elaborately tries to prove his 
statement true, the touchy hostess resents it, and a 
new quarrel is about to break out, when loud knock- 
ing is heard. 

A moment later Peto enters, announcing the 
King is now at Westminster, and that on his way 
from the North, he, Peto, encountered a dozen cap- 
tains, seeking Falstaff in every tavern along the 
road. Thus reminded of serious matters, the 
Prince, feeling he is wasting precious time, hastily 
resumes his own garments, and hurries off with 
Poins, Peto and Bardolph, leaving Falstaff to en- 
joy the best part of the evening in peace. The fat 
knight has barely congratulated himself upon this 
fact, when more knocking is heard, and Bardolph 
re-enters to report Falstaff is wanted at court, 



114 King Henry the Fourth 

whither a dozen captains are waiting to escort him. 
Leaving his page, therefore, to settle with the 
musicians, Falstaff bids the women a pompous fare- 
well, and goes o£E with Bardolph, while the hostess 
comments upon his excellencies, and Doll noisily 
sobs out her grief. 

Act III. The third act opens in the palace at 
Westminster, where the King, in his bedgown, bids 
a page summon the Earls of Surrey and Warwick, 
who are to read the letters he sends them ere they 
appear. The page having gone, Henry IV., — ^who 
is troubled by insomnia, — soliloquises on sleep, and 
on the cares which keep a monarch awake, while 
the meanest of his subjects can Indulge in peaceful 
slumber. His invocation to sleep Is one of the finest 
passages in this play, and ends with the oft-quoted 
comment, 'uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.' 
The entrance of the lords he has summoned, at one 
o'clock in the morning, reminds him there Is business 
on hand; so, after answering their greetings, and 
ascertaining they have perused the letters he sent, he 
informs them they now know danger Is lurking near 
at hand. 

Although the lords agree with the King, they in- 
sist the trouble is not serious, and that Northumber- 
land's ardour will soon be cooled. Henry, who 
would fain read 'the book of fate,' — although he 
realises that knowledge of the future is wisely de- 
nied us, — marvels that the men who helped place him 
on the throne eight years ago, should now prove his 
foes, although he vividly remembers Richard termed 
Northumberland his 'ladder,' and predicted the 
time of retribution would come. Instead of a 



King Henry the Fourth 115 

prophecy this seems mere logical deduction to War- 
wick, who declares the force of the foe has been 
greatly overestimated. He adds the royal army will 
surely prove victorious, for tidings have come of 
Glendower's death, and insists that, having been ill 
for the past fortnight, the King should rest instead 
of aggravating his disease by worry and fatigue. 
Promising to heed this sage advice, Henry IV. 
takes leave of the lords, reiterating that as soon as 
these 'inward wars' are over he means to hasten to 
the Holy Land. 

In the next scene we are transferred to the house 
of Justice Shallow, a Gloucestershire magistrate, 
who welcomes his adherents and kinsmen with the 
consequential repetition of every idle phrase. He 
also inquires minutely about the health of absent 
relatives, and fatuously recalls his student days, 
when he was termed 'lusty Shallow' and when he 
and his comrades played such merry pranks. In 
those days, Falstaff was a mere page, — the same 
Falstaff, whom he now expects with his company of 
soldiers. After a little more conversation, Bar- 
dolph appears, and when Shallow has pompously in- 
troduced himself, delivers to him Falstaff's greet- 
ings. He is still exchanging puns with the facetious 
host, when Falstaff himself enters, asking whether 
the Justice has secured him a dozen recruits? Fus- 
sily calling the roll. Shallow summons the recruits 
one after another for Falstaff's inspection, while 
puns are made on the names, appearance and an- 
swers of the candidates, among whom FalstafE 
means presently to select four. Then, he joyfully 
follows Justice Shallow in to take a drink, indulg- 



1 1 6 King Henry the Fourth 

ing In pleasing reminiscences of their youthful es- 
capades. 

Unable to linger long, Falstaff soon after departs 
and the Justice goes off to his dinner. Meantime, 
the recruits bribe Bardolph to let them off, so when 
Falstaff comes to make his final selection, his man 
whispers that certain of the men have paid to be 
excused. Thus, to Justice Shallow's intense surprise, 
Falstaff selects the least promising specimens, ex- 
cusing his choice under plea that the thinner and 
slighter the man, the less surface he offers to bul- 
lets, and hence the more likely he Is to escape 
wounds! This method of choosing soldiers dis- 
pleases Shallow, w^ho vaguely recollects that other 
recruiters tested the strength and efficiency of the 
candidates; but Falstaff bids Bardolph lead the men 
away and provides them with uniforms, vowing, 
when all have left the stage, that on his return he 
will stop here again, to wring more money out of 
Justice Shallow, who Is born to be a dupe. 

Act IV. The fourth act opens in Yorkshire 
forest, where the Archbishop, Mowbray, Hastings 
and others are halting with their troops. After dis- 
covering their location, the Archbishop suggests a 
reconnoltering party be sent out to ascertain the 
strength and position of their foes. Then he reports 
that letters from Northumberland state he cannot 
levy the required troops, so that instead of joining 
them he has gone to Scotland to pray for their suc- 
cess! This defection proves a great disappointment 
to Mowbray; but before he can adequately express 
it, a messenger reports that an army lies scarcely a 
rnlle away. 




HENRY IV 
Part 2. Henry !V and Prince Hal 



J. Boydell 



King Henry the Fourth 117 

A moment later Westmoreland appears bringing 
greetings from Prince John, with a message to the 
effect that immediate submission on the part of the 
rebels and return to peaceful occupations, will avert 
a bloody encounter. In reply, the Archbishop de- 
clares they have weighed matters well, and having 
found their grievances heavier than their offences, 
have determined to secure justice, arms in hand. 
When he and his companions claim all their appeals 
have been denied, Westmoreland insists his master 
restored Mowbray's property, and exalts Boling- 
broke's courage, denying that his present offer of 
peace springs from any source save mercy. Finally, 
seeing his opponents will not submit, in spite of all 
Prince John's readiness to treat with them, he ac- 
cepts a schedule of their grievances, and departs. 

He has barely gone when Mowbray exclaims he 
has a premonition no peace can stand, an opinion 
Hastings does not share. To convince him, Mow- 
bray remarks that even should a reconciliation ever 
take place, they would always be subject to galling 
suspicions. The Archbishop doubts this, because the 
King is so seriously ill that he must feel anxious to 
smooth out all tangles so as to leave a peaceful 
realm to his son. Encouraged by Hastings, he then 
urges a treaty, to which Mowbray consents, just as 
Westmoreland reappears to announce that Prince 
John, himself, will confer with them half-way be- 
tween both forces. All therefore move forward to 
take part in this momentous interview. 

In another part of the forest both parties meet, 
Prince John receiving his opponents with concili- 
ating courtesy, but gently reproaching the church- 



1 1 8' King Henry the Fourth 

men present for being in war array instead of 
canonicals, and for fighting when they should be 
preaching peace. In reply to his speech the Arch- 
bishop rejoins that having sent him a schedule of 
the grievances for whose redress he and his allies 
are ready to fight to extinction, he wishes to know 
the Prince's reply. Thus urged, Prince John as- 
sures him his father's purposes have been misjudged, 
and that all grievances will be redressed; next he 
offers a peace which the lords have no sooner signed 
than Hastings pays and disbands his army. 

While the treating parties are drinking each 
others' health, the cheers of the army are heard 
welcoming peace. These cheers cause the Prince to 
order the disbanding of his force, too, an order 
Westmoreland goes off to execute, after deciding 
that both armies shall file past, so each party can 
scan the forces it would have had to cope with 
had the war continued. It soon transpires, how- 
ever, that the royal army refuses to be disbanded, 
save by the Prince, while the rebels have al- 
ready scattered to all points of the compass with joy- 
ful alacrity. When fully satisfied that no soldiers 
remain to defend his adversaries, Prince John or- 
ders the arrest of Hastings, Mowbray and the Arch- 
bishop, on the charge of high treason, a treacher- 
ous proceeding they fail to understand, although 
Prince John claims no promises were made save to 
redress their grievances. Then he orders the drums 
beaten, and proclaims, 'God, and not we, hath safely 
fought to-day,' 'ere he bids 'Some guard these 
traitors to the block of death, treason's true bed and 
yielder-up of breath.' 



King Henry the Fourth 119 

In another part of the forest, amid the din of 
warfare, Falstaff, who has attacked the disbanded 
foe, meets and challenges Coleville, whose name 
and location he Ironically parses, vowing that^ as 
he Is a traitor, dungeon Is the only place for him! 
After some more parley with Falstaff, — whose bulk 
awes him, — Coleville surrenders, just as Prince 
John bids his men cease pursuing the disbanded 
rebels, and calls Falstaff to order for disobeying 
orders. Instead of explanation, Falstaff, after a 
wordy preliminary, boasts of having captured single- 
handed a dangerous prisoner, whom he yields up, 
vowing that unless the prowesses he has performed 
are properly recognised, he will have them en- 
shrined in a ballad, where he will be pictured with 
Coleville humbly kissing his foot! His bragging 
amuses Prince John, who, after questioning the pris- 
oner, bids Westmoreland send him on to York to 
be executed there with the rest of the rebels. Then, 
the prisoner removed, Prince John orders the news 
of their triumph carried to his sick father. When 
he has left the scene, granting Falstaff permission to 
return to London via Gloucestershire, Falstaff rue- 
fully concludes this Prince is far too sober-minded 
to laugh at his jokes. Then he expatiates upon the 
charms of sherry, until Bardolph informs him the 
army Is disbanded, news not unwelcome to Falstaff, 
who Invites Bardolph to accompany him to Justice 
Shallow's. 

In the Jerusalem Chamber, at Westminster, the 
King, addressing his court, announces that should 
God grant a successful end to the present troubles, 
he will soon be able to fulfil his vow and conduct 



I20 King Henry the Fourth 

them to Palestine. Then he feebly inquires for 
tw^o of his sons, one of whom is out hunting. 
The other, kneeling submissively before him, is bid- 
den cultivate the society of the Prince of Wales, 
who has always showr marked preference for him, 
and who will hence furthei his fortunes on ascend- 
ing the throne. In mentioning this eldest son, the 
King describes him as a singular compound of 
bravery, generosity, obstinacy and hardness of heart. 
When told to study his brother's moods so as to 
take advantage of favourable ones, the younger 
Prince promises to do his best, ere he reports Hal 
dining with Poins at a London inn. On the men- 
tion of Poins' name, the King regrets his heir 
should frequent such society, but admits his own 
youth was a wild one, too. Hoping to reassure a 
troubled father, Warwick suggests the Prince may 
merely be making a thorough study of mankind, 
but will doubtless cast ol¥ all undesirable asso- 
ciates when he can learn nothing more from them; 
in reply to which the King makes the pithy com- 
ment, ' 'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her 
comb in the dead carrion.' 

Westmoreland now arrives, announcing Prince 
John's bloodless victory, the apprehension of the 
traitors, and the establishment of peace, news over 
which Henry rejoices. A moment later another 
messenger reports how Northumberland and his 
Scotch allies have been defeated, joyful tidings which 
almost overcome Henry IV. Feeling weak and 
faint he calls for aid, so his son and courtiers sup- 
port him, pitifully exclaiming such attacks are fast 
wearing him out, and hinting that ominous portents 



King Henry the Fourth 121 

presage the speedy end of his reign. Then, seeing 
him show signs of returning consciousness, they 
lower their voices, and tenderly bear him away when 
he asks to be removed to another place. 

The curtain next rises on the royal sick-chamber, 
where the King, lying in bed, has his crown placed 
on the pillow beside him, and asks to be left alone, 
while music is softly played in the next room. 
Those present are just commenting on his hollow 
eye and changed appearance, when Prince Hal en- 
ters, asking for his father, whose sudden seizure ap- 
pals him. Hoping good news may have a benefi- 
cent effect, he suggests the King be told of the vic- 
tory, and when informed it was those tidings which 
provoked the present attack, exclaims one soon re- 
covers when sick from joy! Afraid lest talking 
may disturb the King, Westmoreland suggests 
their leaving his Majesty to rest, and going into 
the next room, whereupon the Prince of Wales vol- 
unteers to mount guard at the royal bedside. 

All the rest having gone. Prince Hal notices with 
surprise the crown, — which he deems too trouble- 
some a bedfellow for a sick man. Bending to re- 
move it, and perceiving no signs of life in the sleeper, 
the Prince sadly concludes his father will never 
wake again. Feeling he owes 'his gracious lord' 
filial tenderness, and mourning him truly, the Prince 
lifts up the crown, and placing it upon his head 
grimly cries, 'Lo, here it sits, which God shall 
guard; and, put the world's whole strength into 
one giant arm, it shall not force this lineal honour 
from me !' Then, with a parting glance at the mo- 
tionless form, the Prince withdraws from the room, 



122 King Henry the Fourth 

only a moment before the King rouses from his 
death-like stupor. 

Gazing around him and finding himself unat- 
tended, Henry IV. calls, whereupon those in the 
next room hasten to his bedside, declaring they left 
the Prince of Wales to watch him. As the King 
seeks his son with longing eyes, they add he must 
have passed through another open door. Then, 
only, the King notices the absence of his crown, 
and, asking for it, is told it lay beside him when his 
attendants left. Concluding the Prince of Wales 
removed it, the King sends for him, murmuring his 
son is in sore haste to despoil one, who, like the bee 
has gathered honey only for his use. 

The bitterness of this thought almost overcomes 
Henry, and when Warwick returns without the 
Prince, he anxiously inquires where he is? Then 
Warwick feelingly describes how the Prince was 
found in the next room, utterly overcome by sor- 
row. Although impressed by this description, the 
King is suspiciously reiterating 'wherefore did he 
take away the crown ?' as the Prince comes in. 

Bidding all present leave them alone together, 
Henry sees his son fall on his knee beside him, joy- 
fully exclaiming he never thought to hear him speak 
again ! The father coldly rejoins the wish was prob- 
ably father to the thought, ere he inquires whether 
the Prince is so eager for honours, that he would cur- 
tail the brief span of life left him. He bitterly adds 
he foresees Henry IV. will soon be forgotten, and 
that Henry V. will inaugurate an era of lawlessness 
in England, ruthlessly tearing down all he has so 
painfully built up. The Prince, whose deep emotion 



King Henry the Fourth 123 

has hitherto prevented speech, now explains how 
finding him lifeless, he bore away the crown, not to 
exult in its possession, but to reproach it for being 
the indirect cause of his father's death by overweight- 
ing his feeble strength. In his grief and remorse 
Hal pours out his heart, showing what a loving son 
he really Is, expressing regret for having caused 
Henry sorrow, and revealing an earnest intention 
to fulfil nobly the tasks that await him. 

This glimpse of Harry's real feelings fills his 
father's heart with joy, and impels him, for the 
first time In his life, to treat his heir as one who 
can understand his trials. So, after describing how 
he obtained England's crown, Henry advises his 
son how to proceed, ere again mentioning his vow to 
lead a force to the Holy Land, where many trouble- 
some, adventurous spirits would have found occupa- 
tion without conspiring against his authority. When 
he adds a prayer that God will forgive his usurpa- 
tion, and grant his son peaceful enjoyment of the 
crown. Prince Hal rejoins that whatever his father 
has won he will maintain against the world ! This 
heart to heart conversation between father and son, 
concludes with the arrival of Prince John, bringing 
tidings of peace which please the King, although 
he declares It is time for all worldly business to close. 
Then, calling for Lord Warwick, and learning 
from him that the place where he swooned Is the 
Jerusalem Chamber, Henry IV. suddenly exclaims, 
the prediction shall be fulfilled, and that 'in that 
Jerusalem shall Harry die.' 

Act V. The fifth act opens in Justice Shallow's 
house, where he is entertaining FalstafE and Bar- 



124 King Henry the Fourth 

dolph, protesting he cannot yet let them depart. 
Then, calling his servant he fussily arranges sun- 
dry farm and household matters, ere he returns to 
his guests, whose boots, he insists, shall immediately 
be removed. The Justice goes out first, and vv^hile 
Bardolph and the page attend to the horses, Fal- 
staff mutters that were he 'sawed into quantities/ 
he could make at least two dozen 'hermit's staves' 
like Shallow. He also ridicules the way In which 
the Justice's servants pattern themselves upon their 
master in manners and speech, proposes to collect suf- 
ficient humorous material from this visit to make 
Prince Harry laugh until 'his face be like a wet 
cloak ill laid-up!' and hastens ofE only when Shal- 
low is heard loudly calling him. 

In the palace of Westminster, the Chief Justice 
is dismayed to learn Henry IV.'s reign is ended, 
and wishes in his grief that he might have accom- 
panied his master to the better world, for he fancies 
the services he has rendered this monarch will now 
redound to his discredit. Warwick, to whom he 
makes this statement, reluctantly admits the young 
King does not love him, before they are joined by 
the King's brothers and sundry courtiers. As they 
enter, Warwick audibly regrets that the least de- 
serving of Henry IV.'s three sons should succeed 
him, and after greetings have been exchanged, one 
of the courtiers condoles with the Chief Justice at 
having lost 'a friend indeed.' But, although 
Prince John admits the Justice has cause to look 
sorrowful, his brother suggests he court Falstaff, 
bosom companion of the present King. To all this 
advice the Chief Justice rejoins he has merely done 



King Henry the Fourth 125 

what honour commanded, adding that should justice 
be denied him, he can follow his dead master. 

It is as he ceases speaking, that the new King en- 
ters, remarking the royal garment does not yet sit 
easily upon him; and, turning to his brothers, as- 
sures them he shares their grief, and bespeaks their 
aid. Then, only, he addresses the Chief Justice, 
reminding him how he once publicly rebuked the 
heir of England, and sent him off to prison, an in- 
dignity few princes could forget. With quiet dig- 
nity, the Chief Justice claims he was charged to 
execute the laws over high and low, and asks the 
new made monarch how he would like to see his 
decrees set at nought and his orders scorned? His 
able defence excites the admiration of King Henry 
v., — who has merely been testing him, — and who 
now graciously confers upon him the office he held 
under his father, bidding him continue to be the same 
righteous judge, and bespeaking his friendly aid and 
advice. Then, addressing the rest of the courtiers, 
Henry assures them his wildness is at an end, and 
that all his energies will henceforth be devoted to 
governing well his realm with Parliament's aid. 
The scene closes with noble words that God will- 
ing, 'no Prince nor peer shall have just cause to say, 
God shorten Harry's happy life one day !' 

In the next scene. Justice Shallow proudly ex- 
hibits his orchard to his guests, giving directions 
meanwhile to the servant who fills many offices in 
his small establishment. In all he says and does 
we behold the consequential importance of the petty 
magistrate, for he patronises all around him, includ- 
ing his familiar toady Silence, who favours them 



126 King Henry the Fourth 

with a song. While they sit around a garden table, 
drinking, and indulging in quips and jests, inter- 
spersed with songs, they are disturbed by loud knock- 
ing. The general factotum hurrying out, soon re- 
turns to report that Pistol has arrived from court 
with news, just as this worthy enters, and after 
wittily evading Falstaff's questions for a while, an- 
nounces the death of King Henry IV. and the ac- 
cession of Henry V.! At first, Falstaff doubts 
these tidings, but, when convinced the old King is 
indeed as dead *as nail in door,* he calls excitedly 
for his horse, and, deeming himself 'Fortune's stew- 
ard/ lavishes promises, for he does not doubt he 
is to be the new monarch's right-hand man, and 
that his foe the Chief Justice will be taken to task. 

In the next scene we behold a London street, 
along which the hostess of the Bear's Inn and Doll 
Tearsheet are dragged by beadles, who promise 
Doll a whipping for causing quarrels wherein men 
have been slain. The women make considerable 
fuss, using their ready tongues freely, and calling 
the beadles all manner of names, with all the vol- 
ubility and coarseness of fish-wives. 

We next behold a public place near Westminster 
Abbey, strewn with rushes for the coronation pro- 
cession. While the grooms make hurried prep- 
arations and exchange remarks, Falstaff, Shallow, 
Pistol, Bardolph and the page, place themselves in 
as conspicuous positions as possible, to attract the 
King's attention, FalstafE meanwhile boasting how 
he will leer at the new monarch, so that all present 
can see what favour he enjoys. While waiting, he 
regrets there was no time to order new liveries and 



King Henry the Fourth 127 

clothes, but feels confident his travel-stained apparel 
will testify to his devotion. While they are wait- 
ing, Pistol imparts Doll's arrest, and Falstaff has 
just boasted she will soon be free, when a blast of 
trumpets heralds the King's arrival. No longer able 
to restrain his expansive spirits, Falstaff lustily 
shouts 'God save thy grace. King Hal! my royal 
Hal !' wherein he is imitated by Pistol ; until Henry 
v., reining in his prancing steed, sternly bids the 
Chief Justice 'speak to that vain man.' Although 
this dignitary performs the task eagerly, Falstaff, 
paying no heed to his reproofs, renews his cries, un- 
til his Majesty distinctly declares; *I know thee 
not, old man' and after administering a rebuke, as- 
sures Falstaff he is no longer what he was, but in- 
tends to banish his former companions, who will 
have to remain ten miles away from his person un- 
til they reform. Then, adding some good advice, — • 
salved by the promise of a pension, — Henry rides 
slowly on. 

The King having gone, dazed Falstaff acknowl- 
edges he has lost his bet of a thousand pounds; but 
he soon confidently adds the King disowned him 
publicly for appearance's sake, but will soon send 
for him privately, when he will have an oppor- 
tunity to intercede for his friends. To avoid pay- 
ing half the lost bet, — ^which Shallow claims, — 
Falstaff invites his former school friend to dinner, 
repeating he will soon be summoned to court ! But, 
Prince John, the Chief Justice and officers now ap- 
pear to arrest him and his companions, and Prince 
John praises his brother when they have been re- 
moved, for providing for his former friends, although 



128 King Henry the Fourth 

he has banished them from his presence until they 
have ' reformed. He adds that Henry has already 
summoned Parliament, and that he suspects there 
will be war against France ere long. 

The Epilogue to this play Is recited by a dancer, 
who expresses some fear lest the audience may have 
been bored, and begs pardon In that case; then he 
promises a sequel to this play, wherein more will be 
told about Falstaff, and where the King's wooing 
of fair Katharine of France, will be set forth. 
After that, kneeling down, the dancer prays for the 
Queen, and the curtain slowly falls. 



THE LIFE OF KING HENRY THE FIFTH 

This play Is preceded by an eloquent prologue, 
wherein the poet, despairing of making his char- 
acters live again before our eyes, of enclosing 'the 
vasty fields of France' In a mere theatre, or of 
showing us 'the very casques that did affright the 
air at Aglncourt,' makes an eloquent appeal to the 
audience's imagination. 

Act I. The first act opens In an antechamber 
of the royal palace in London, where the Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of Ely are 
discussing a bill, pending for twelve years past, 
which will deprive the Church of many prerogatives. 
They also comment on their new monarch, Canter- 
bury remarking that although Henry V.'s youth 
presaged little good, he Is now a model ruler. All 
he says In praise of the King's wisdom, Is confirmed 
by the Bishop of Ely, who adds that just as straw- 
berries grow beneath the nettle, the King's virtues 
have ripened and developed under cover of his 
wildness, ere he Inquires how Henry views the bill 
they have discussed? Canterbury replies that al- 
though the King seemed almost Indifferent, an offer 
the Church recently made of funds to make war 
against France will probably determine him to act 
in their favour. Still, he adds, that although pleas- 
antly Impressed by this offer, his Majesty would give 
no Immediate answer, expressing instead a desire 
to know more about his claims to the French crown. 
The arrival of a French ambassador, craving audi- 
129 



130 Life of King Henry the Fifth 

ence, had interrupted this momentous conversation, 
and it is this audience the prelates propose to 
attend, although they can calculate its import in ad- 
vance. 

We next behold the presence-chamber, where the 
King enters with his train, calling for the Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury. While this prelate is being 
summoned, a courtier inquires whether the ambas- 
sador is to be admitted, only to be informed that 
matters of weight must first be settled. The en- 
tering clergy having pronounced the benediction, 
the King addresses Canterbury, asking whether. In 
his opinion, the Salic Law debars him from the 
French crown, solemnly warning him to weigh well 
his answer, as his decision may cost many lives. 
Thus adjured, the Archbishop explains how the an- 
cient law decreeing that no woman should succeed 
in Salic lands, was framed in early Merovingian 
times, in the country between the Elbe and the 
Sala, and hence has no bearing upon the crown of 
France, to which Henry inherits a clear title. 

When Henry therupon demands whether he may 
'with right and conscience' assert this claim, Can- 
terbury urges him to do so, eloquently quoting the 
Scriptures, and invoking the memory of his glori- 
ous kinsman, the Black Prince. Chiming in, the 
Bishop of Ely reminds the Monarch he is heir to 
all this courage and glory, while his relatives ex- 
claim that his brother kings expect him to act, and 
that there are men and money enough to make his 
claim good. 

When Canterbury adds that the clergy will vol- 
unteer for such a purpose a larger subsidy than has 



Life of King Henry the Fifth 131 

ever been granted before, Henry gravely reminds 
all present that not only must they invade France, 
but defend England, for the Scotch invariably rise 
when there is war abroad. When Canterbury 
eagerly rejoins that the lords of the marches suffice 
to repel the borderers, Henry retorts he is not 
thinking of raids, but of such wars as have brought 
terror and ruin before. Thereupon Canterbury de- 
fiantly replies that when Scotland attacked Eng- 
land, her King fell into their power, paying no heed 
to the old adage, which Westmoreland quotes: 'If 
that you will France win, then with Scotland first 
begin.' 

A spirited discussion now ensues between Exeter 
and Canterbury, each of whom illustrates his mean- 
ing by similies, that of the Archbishop proving par- 
ticularly felicitous, for he describes a bee-hive as a 
model of good government, ere suggesting that the 
King go to France with one-fourth of the English 
forces, leaving the remainder at home to defend the 
borders and police his realm. So palatable is this 
advice to Henry, — ^who wishes to keep his nobles 
too busy abroad to plot at home, — that, after giv- 
ing orders to admit the ambassadors, he exclaims his 
mind is fully made up, and that with God's help 
and that of his subjects, France shall be his. 

The entering ambassadors now bow low before 
the English monarch, who graciously announces he 
is ready to receive the Dauphin's message, since it 
comes in his name. After a courteous preamble, — 
having obtained the English King's leave to speak 
boldly, — the ambassador briefly states Henry's claims 
to certain estates in France are rejected, and that 



132 Life of King Henry the Fifth 

his master, wishing to hear no more about it, sends 
him instead 'a tun of treasure.' 

Although couched in terms of scathing contempt, 
Henry V. calmly ignores this rudeness and asks his 
uncle what the tun contains? On receiving the 
grim reply 'tennis balls,' the English Monarch 
expresses ironical pleasure that the Dauphin should 
deign to jest with him, adding the significant state- 
ment, *when we have match'd our rackets to these 
balls, we will, in France, by God's grace, play a 
set shall strike his father's crown into the hasard." 
Then, he grimly states he is coming, sword in hand, 
to assert his claims to France, and warns the 
Dauphin he will soon see his tennis balls turned 
into *gun-stones,' and his mockery wring tears from 
the eyes of countless mothers and widows. After 
a solemn appeal to the God of battles to avenge his 
wrongs, Henry V. dismisses the ambassadors under 
the usual safe-conduct. 

The stranger gone, the King's uncle exclaims 
*this was a merry message!' to which expression of 
approval Henry grimly rejoins that if they are to 
make its sender blush, they must turn their ener- 
gies towards France, before he leaves the room in a 
flourish of trumpets. 

Act n. The second act Is also preceded by a 
patriotic prologue, depicting the wild enthusiasm in 
England over the coming war, the energetic prep- 
arations for the campaign, the discovery of three 
conspirators, and the departure of the King to cross 
the 'narrow seas' between Southampton and France. 

The curtain rises on a street in London where 
Corporal Nym and Lieutenant Bardolph, — who 



Life of King Henry the Fifth 133 

form part of the coming expedition, — meet and dis- 
cuss the chances of plunder, and the marriage of 
their companion, Ancient Pistol, to Nell Quickly, 
the hostess, once betrothed to Nym. While they are 
thus talking, the newly-made couple join them, 
Pistol boasting his wife shall cease to keep lodgers. 
Thereupon she admits that such occupation has its 
drawbacks since gentlemen will brawl, a state of 
affairs plainly illustrated a moment later, when Nym 
and Pistol, who have exchanged hostile glances and 
words, prepare to fight. Although Bardolph tries 
to interfere, the two would-be fighters revile each 
other, until, seeing no other way to check them, 
Bardolph draws his sword, threatening to kill the 
first who strikes a blow! 

In the midst of this quarrel. Pistol bids Nym 
leave his wife alone hereafter, and content himself 
with courting Doll Tearsheet, just as a boy sum- 
mons Pistol and his wife to his master, who is very 
ill. This news Dame Quickly scarcely credits, al- 
though she goes off with the boy, calling to her hus- 
band to follow her soon. Meanwhile, although Bar- 
dolph offers to reconcile the two disputants, they 
renew their quarrel, only to be again checked by 
their companion, who, this time, succeeds in making 
peace between them. He has barely done so, when 
the hostess returns in a flutter, bidding them come 
quickly to Sir John Falstaff, w^hose alarming con- 
dition the three men attribute to chagrin over the 
royal displeasure. 

The council chamber at Southampton next stands 
revealed, where some courtiers wonder how the King 
dares trust false men whose plots have been discov- 



134 Life of King Henry the Fifth 

ered, although they do not yet suspect It. A mo- 
ment later Henry enters, with the three conspirators 
in his train, and is overheard rejoicing there is fair 
wind, so they can soon embark to cut a 'passage 
through the force of France.' Every word he ut- 
ters is fulsomely approved by the traitors, until 
Henry bids his uncle set free a man imprisoned for 
insulting him. The traitors now eagerly urge the 
King to punish this culprit, using arguments which 
Henry V. combats, urging that mildness and pardon 
should be extended for slight offences, and severity 
be reserved only for those of greater weight. 

This matter settled, Henry inquires who were 
the late commissioners to France, and hearing the 
traitors claim this honour, hands them papers, which 
he gravely bids them read, as they show he knows 
their worth. Meanwhile, he announces to the rest 
that they will embark that evening. Then, per- 
ceiving the trio's blanched cheeks and distended eyes, 
he grimly inquires what is the matter with them? 
Thereupon all three, convicted of guilt by the very 
arguments they used, humbly crave his pardon. 
After gravely reminding them how they conquered 
all inclination to mercy in his heart, Henry adds 
that since, for base motives, they conspired with 
France to plot his death, they shall be arrested. 
Exeter having apprehended them, they again beg 
their master's forgiveness, recognising however, that 
they deserve death for betraying their country. 
Thereupon, Henry, after solemnly rehearsing their 
delinquencies, pardons their offences towards him- 
self, but sentences them to the block for betraying 
England. Then, the traitors led away, he bids the 



Life of King Henry the Fifth 135 

rest prepare to sail, praying God, who brought to 
light a dangerous plot which might have wrecked 
their plans, to continue to help them. 

The scene is now transferred to Dame Quickly's 
Inn, where she is pleading to accompany her war- 
rior-husband part way to Southampton, a boon he 
denies, while urging his companions to keep up their 
spirits, although FalstafE is dead. When Bardolph 
expresses a longing to be with Sir John either in 
heaven or hell, the hostess assures him that FalstafE 
must be in "Arthur's bosom," after which malaprop- 
ism she circumstantially describes the edifying end 
of the fat knight. Then she receives her husband's 
shrewd instructions and affectionate farewell, and, 
bidding his companions kiss his wife, too. Pistol 
marches ofE with them, his spouse watching them 
out of sight. 

The curtain now rises on the royal palace in 
France, where King Charles is attended by the 
Dauphin and his lords. After stating he has heard 
the English are coming, this monarch takes meas- 
ures for the defence of his realm, appointing special 
duties for his son and lords to perform. Although 
agreeing that imm.ediate measures of defence are 
necessary, the Dauphin speaks in such contemptu- 
ous terms of their adversary, that the Constable sees 
fit to warn him he is mistaken in his estimate of 
Henry V., and bids him question the ambassadors 
to learn with what dignity they were received, how 
proudly their challenge was answered, and how 
courteously they were dismissed ! 

Hearing this, the Dauphin reluctantly admits he 
may be partly mistaken, adding, however, that he 



136 Life of King Henry the Fifth 

deems it wiser to under-estimate rather than over- 
estimate a foe. The French King, resuming the 
initiative, now prudently decides that, considering 
their adversary strong, they will 'strongly arm to 
meet him,' remembering it behooves them to wipe 
out the shame of the defeat at Crecy, where a rela- 
tive of the present English King won his spurs. 

It is at this moment a messenger announces the 
English ambassadors, whom the King orders ad- 
mitted, telling his court 'this chase is hotly fol- 
low'd.' This expression gives the Dauphin op- 
portunity to exclaim that such being the case, the 
moment has come to turn and face their pursuers, 
thus getting the better of them ! But Exeter is ush- 
ered in, and after delivering ceremonious greetings, 
haughtily summons the French Monarch to sur- 
render to Henry V. France and all pertaining to its 
crown, substantiating his master's claim by produc- 
ing his pedigree. 

To the French King's calm, *Or else what fol- 
lows?' the ambassador replies by a declaration of 
war, announcing that Henry is already on his way, 
surrounded by all the pomp and panoply of war, and 
warning them that the deplorable consequences of 
this quarrel rest upon the heads of French King 
and Dauphin. Charles VI. now promises an an- 
swer on the morrow, while the Dauphin, enraged 
by a scornful message addressed to him, defiantly ex- 
claims that he desires naught so eagerly as to meas- 
ure strength with England, as he plainly showed 
by sending a young and vain monarch play- 
things! Grimly warning him such contempt may 
yet cost dear, the ambassador departs, urging the 



Life of King Henry the Fifth 137 

French monarch to give hfm a speedy answer, lest 
his master come and get it in person! A night, 
however, does not seem too long a space of time 
for the French King wherein to decide matters of 
such consequence, so the audience closes with a 
blast of trumpets. 

Act III. The prologue to the third act is a 
chorus, describing the embarking of Henry V., his 
crossing of the Channel, his landing at Harfleur, 
the preparations for siege, and the return of his am- 
bassador offering Princess Katharine's hand with so 
insignificant a dowry, that the insulted English fire 
their siege guns and all goes down before them! 

The rising curtain reveals Harfleur, which Henrj^ 
Is besieging, and where, in a picturesque speech, he 
urges his men to return to the attack. Then come 
renewed bursts of artillery, during which Bardolph 
eggs the reluctant Nym on, while Pistol sings a 
battle-song, and his boy wishes himself safe in some 
London alehouse, for he would willingly exchange 
all his 'fame for a pot of ale and safety.' The 
captain, a Welshman, now appears to drive the men 
forward, whereupon they advance, jocosely protest- 
ing, and leave the boy alone on the stage to com- 
ment upon the queer masters he is serving, whom 
he cannot respect, because they lie and steal and try 
to teach him to do likewise. 

Soon after this boy leaves the scene, the Welsh- 
man returns, explaining wordily that he will not 
go to the mines, where the Duke of Gloucester Is 
summoning him, because he knows they are counter- 
mined and hence dangerous. While he and his men 
hesitate, they are joined by two other captains, an 



138 Life of King Henry the Fifth 

Irishman and a Scotchman, who grumble because the 
trumpets have sounded a recall, and they have been 
forced to leave the mines ere they could blow up 
the town! A disputation on military matters en- 
sues, wherein the nationality of the disputants is 
clearly revealed by their different dialects and char- 
acteristic points of view, ere trumpets sound to an- 
nounce a parley. 

This causes the disputants to desert the scene, 
where, shortly after their departure. King Henry 
rides up to Harfleur's gate, to confer with the gov- 
ernor, who appears on the wall. After plainly 
stating, in a speech of great power and dignity, that 
the town had better surrender to his mercy, Henry 
sternly adds that unless it yields, its walls will be 
battered down, and its people exposed to all the 
horror of warfare. 

The governor rejoins that, although they confi- 
dently expected the Dauphin to relieve them, all 
hopes of his arrival having come to an end, they 
will trust him and surrender. On hearing this, 
Henry joyfully bids the gates be opened to Exeter, 
who is placed in charge of the town, with orders 
to fortify it against the French, while showing 
mercy to all. Then King Henry announces his in- 
tention to spend one night only in Harfleur, ere 
he winters with the rest of his forces at Calais. 
The curtain falls as the King and his train march 
into the surrendered city, amid triumphal blasts of 
music. 

We again behold the French King's palace, 
where Princess Katharine is artlessly questioning in 
French one of her waiting-women, who has visited 



Life of King Henry the Fifth 139 

England. Alice, having modestly admitted she has 
a slight knowledge of English, the Princess bids 
her give her lesson, naming hand, fingers, nails, arm, 
elbow, neck, and chin. She repeats these words 
more or less correctly, in halting accents, innocently 
pluming herself from time to time on the facility 
with which she is acquiring a difficult foreign lan- 
guage, whose sounds seem strange and uncouth to 
her ear. The whole scene, — one of ineffable grace 
and humour, — forms one of the most delightful bits 
of fooling in the play, and closes with the Princess' 
departure for dinner, priding herself upon soon be- 
ing an excellent English scholar. 

We next behold the French King in the same 
apartment, exclaiming the English have already 
passed the Somme! His Constable and the Dauphin 
thereupon urge immediate battle, the Duke of Bur- 
gundy averring the English are Norman bastards, 
whom he longs to face. Their invasion of France 
seems a foolhardy performance to the Constable, 
whose strictures upon English climate and people 
are equally severe. The courtier's remarks, how- 
ever, encourage Charles VI., who bids a herald 
carry his challenge to the foe, and orders all present 
to hasten to the battle-field and acquit themselves 
there to such good purpose, that Henry V. will be 
brought captive to Rouen! These orders are en- 
thusiastically welcomed, the Constable openly re- 
gretting the English army is so small and weak 
that on perceiving the French it will surely melt 
away. Repeating his orders to the herald, the 
King bids him ask what ransom the King of Eng- 
land offers? Then he commands his son to remain 



1 40 Life of King Henry the Fifth 

in Rouen with him, although the Prince longs to 
take part in the fray, and father and son depart, 
the former charging the Constable soon to send 
word that England has fallen! 

The scene is now in the English camp, on the 
banks of the Somme, where the Welshman and his 
subordinate praise the Duke of Exeter, who is guard- 
ing the bridge, one of his helpers being their gal- 
lant companion Pistol. The subordinate is just ex- 
pressing a desire to meet this remarkable man, when 
Pistol comes to beg the Welshman to intercede with 
the Duke for Bardolph's pardon, the latter having 
been sentenced to the gallows for stealing! Owing 
to the pedantic, disputatious temper of his inter- 
locutor, Pistol is interrupted time and again with 
corrections, puns and comments, which so irritate 
him that he becomes violently angry when his re- 
quest is refused. When he has gone, the Welsh- 
man and his subordinate discuss him, until the roll 
of a drum heralds the appearance of King Henry. 
After greeting the Welshman, he inquires what 
news has come from the bridge, and learns how the 
Duke of Exeter, notwithstanding repeated attacks 
from the French, still holds his own and has lost 
but one man. This individual, Bardolph, is to be 
hanged for robbing a church, a punishment which 
Henry wishes might overtake all similar offenders, 
ere he repeats his orders to respect property and treat 
the natives kindly, for 'when lenity and cruelty 
play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is the soon- 
est winner.' 

A moment later, trumpets announce the arrival 
of the French herald, who defiantly delivers his 



Life of King Henry the Fifth 141 

master's haughty message. Listening calmly, Henry 
inquires the herald's name, ere he bids him carry 
back answer that he would fain avoid an encounter 
at present, his men being so enfeebled by illness that 
one cannot, as usual, equal three Frenchmen! He 
therefore begs for free passage, warning the herald, 
however, that if hindered In his retreat to Calais, 
he intends to cut his way through, dyeing the French 
soil with French blood. The Frenchmen having 
withdrawn, the English King turns to his brother, 
averring they are now in God's hands, and must 
camp beyond the river. 

The scene next changes to the French camp near 
Agincourt, where the Constable Is priding himself 
on his armour, and the Duke of Orleans on his 
horse. The Dauphin, however, seems to think his 
steed and weapons surpass those of his companions, 
for after some more horse talk and boasts about 
what they intend to do on the morrow, he departs. 
While the Dauphin Is donning his armour, his 
companions make fun of him, one of them volun- 
teering to eat all the men he kills, for he feels no 
faith In the Prince's valour. 

The arrival of an excited messenger, announc- 
ing that the English are close to their tents, breaks 
up this colloquy, and all exclaim the King of Eng- 
land cannot long for day as they do, as there is no 
doubt of his coming defeat. So sure do they feel 
of victory, that one man openly wonders why the 
English do not run away, only to be informed that 
they belong to a mastiff breed which does not know 
how to let go ! So the nobles separate, asserting each 
Frenchman will capture at least a hundred English- 



142 Life of King Henry the Fifth 

men before sunset, and betting on the results of the 
day. 

Act IV. The prologue of the fourth act, again 
a chorus, depicts how, after a night of anxious sus- 
pense on the part of the English, — ^who pluck com- 
fort from Henry's looks, — and of rash security on 
the part of the French, the clatter of preparation is 
heard, before a terrible battle is fought at Agin- 
court. 

The rising curtain reveals the English camp, 
where King Henry privately acknowledges to his 
brothers they are in imminent peril, adding that on 
that very account their courage must rise to the 
grim occasion. After some reassuring, philosophic 
reflections on the advantage of early rising, he next 
addresses an aged knight, wishing a softer pillow 
awaited him, a wish his interlocutor is too brave to 
share. To show appreciation for the courage and 
loyalty the old knight displays, Henry begs the 
loan of his cloak, ere he bids his brothers summon a 
council in the royal tent. 

Meanwhile, — disguised by the cloak, — Henry pro- 
poses to commune a while alone, but is soon chal- 
lenged by Pistol, who, not recognising his monarch, 
converses in familiar strain with him, giving him a 
free and easy opinion of his superiors, ere he takes 
himself away. A moment later, the Welshman he 
has described, appears with his henchman, with 
whom he indulges in a pretentious discourse, which 
diverts Henry. They are soon joined by three 
other soldiers, who, thinking they will not live to 
see another dawn, dread the approach of day. On 
perceiving Henry, — ^who represents himself a fol- 



Life of King Henry the Fifth 143 

lower of the aged knight, — they ask his opinion of 
their predicament, whereupon he concedes that al- 
though their King is but a man, they had better 
obey him without fear. He then cunningly in- 
duces these men to give their opinion of their ruler, 
and swears he could die nowhere so contentedly as 
in the King's company, 'his cause being just and 
his quarrel honourable.' Although not so sure of 
this, the three soldiers deem themselves bound to 
obey their King right or wrong, leaving him re- 
sponsible for everything, including their souls! 
After arguing with them for awhile to demonstrate 
that every man must answer for his own §oul, Henry 
remarks he has overheard the English King say he 
would not be ransomed, a statement the men fancy 
devised mainly to make them fight the more bravely. 
As a dispute arises on this subject between Henry 
and William, one of the soldiers, they finally ex- 
change gloves, each promising to wear his ad- 
versary's token in his cap, and give the other sat- 
isfaction after the battle, the soldier truculently 
adding ere he leaves the stage, that he proposes to 
strike the bearer of his gage wherever he meets him ! 
All having gone, Henry muses in a soliloquy of 
wonderful force and beauty, upon the responsibility 
royalty entails, and which all its pomps and pleas- 
ures only thinly disguise. His musings are inter- 
rupted by the return of the aged knight, reporting his 
lords are vainly seeking him. Replying that he will 
meet them presently in his tent, Henry dismisses 
this messenger, and, left alone, fervently prays his 
and his father's sins may not be remembered — see- 
ing he has already done penance for them, — but 



144 Life of King Henry the Fifth 

that his soldiers' hearts may be so steeled, that they 
will prove victorious in spite of the odds against 
them. Again summoned, — by a brother this time, 
— the King goes off, earnestly exclaiming, 'the day, 
my friends and all things stay for me.' 

At sunrise, we behold the French camp all astir, 
the Dauphin and Duke of Orleans calling for their 
steeds in their frantic haste to begin the fray. 
When the Constable joins them, the Dauphin rashly 
proposes to excite their horses by gashing their hides 
so they can sprinkle the foe with their blood! A 
messenger, — announcing that the English are 
drawn up In battle array, — hastens the departure 
of the Dauphin, Duke of Orleans, and Constable, 
which latter contemptuously mentions the starved 
array of men Henry has to oppose to France's bril- 
liant host, vowing that if blown upon, 'the vapour 
of our valour will o'erturn them.' Before his 
boastful speech ends, another knight joins them, also 
deriding the meanness of the foe, whose very steeds 
stand with dropped heads and dejected mien, while 
bands of crows hover over them to pick their bones! 
Then the Dauphin suggests it would be chivalrous 
to feed the enemy so as to make them more wor- 
thy of their steel, ere all set out, exulting at the 
prospect of the easy triumph awaiting them. 

Meantime, In the English camp, the lords are 
coming to the conclusion that, although only one 
against five, they must make a brave stand. So 
little do they expect to survive the day, however, 
that they take solemn leave of one another, exchang- 
ing good wishes. Salisbury has just left the group 
when King Henry appears, just in time to over- 



Life of King Henry the Fifth 145 

hear Westmoreland fervently wish they had ten 
thousand more Englishmen at hand. This wish is 
not echoed by the King, who boldly avers that if 
they are to die, England will lose men enough, but 
that should they triumph, 'the fewer men, the 
greater share of honour!' Instead of calling for 
additional forces, therefore, he is in favour of pro- 
claiming that all those who are afraid of the com- 
ing fight, can depart with passport and pay, proudly 
vowing we would not die in that man's company 
that fears his fellowship to die with us.' Then he 
enthusiastically adds future ages will speak of this 
encounter, proclaiming that 'he to-day that sheds 
his blood with me shall be my brother.' This 
promise so thrills his hearers, that when Salisbury 
announces the French are about to charge, all ex- 
press readiness to enter the fight, and Westmore- 
land openly wishes he and the King were alone 
against the foe, so that they could reap the glory! 

They are about to leave the scene when the 
French herald reappears, announcing he has come 
to give Henry a last chance to withdraw from a 
quarrel, in which he and all his men must perish, 
and to offer ransom. On hearing that the Con- 
stable has sent this message, Henry haughtily re- 
joins, 'Bid them achieve me and then sell my 
bones/ adding the solemn warning that it is not 
wise to attempt to sell a lion's skin ere the beast is 
slain! Then, in a stirring speech which reveals 
high courage, he adds that many of his men. In- 
stead of rotting on this plain, will yet rest beneath 
honoured brasses in England, and that although 
they present a sorry appearance compared with the 



146 Life of King Henry the Fifth 

French host, they are none the less ready to measure 
strength with their gay foes. Bearing this haughty 
message, the herald departs, solemnly warning 
Henry 'thou never shalt hear herald any more/ 
only to receive the biting retort that he will soon be 
back for ransom! The English now being ready 
to mount, the Duke of York craves permission to 
lead the van, a request Henry grants, ere he 
departs exclaiming, 'and how thou pleasest, God, 
dispose the day!' 

We next behold the field of battle, where Pistol 
has seized a Frenchman, whose name and quality 
he is anxious to discover so as to calculate the 
amount of ransom he can claim. Thanks to his 
boy, who acts as his Interpreter, the matter Is settled 
after a comical scene, and Pistol and his captive 
withdraw, while the boy muses on the death by 
hanging of Bardolph and Nym, and regrets that he 
must remain with the baggage. 

In another part of the battle-field, the Constable, 
Duke of Orleans and Dauphin congregate, and 
from their exclamations and consternation we con- 
clude all Is lost, and that the King whom they 
expected to offer ransom is now their victor! In 
vain hope of turning the tide, all rush back Into the 
fray, for in spite of overwhelming losses, they still 
greatly outnumber their foes. 

Further ofF, on the same battle-field, Henry is 
congratulating those around him upon what has 
already been done, though the French still hold the 
field, and Inquiring how his uncle York has fared 
in the fight? In reply, Exeter describes this he- 
ro's prowess, ere he fell beneath many wounds, re- 



Life of King Henry the Fifth 147 

lating how he and Suffolk died side by side, after 
exchanging touching congratulations and farewells. 
This news, which saddens all present, deeply affects 
the King, who, hearing a trumpet blast, exclaims 
the French are returning and that the prisoners 
must be slain, so all will be at liberty to fight ! 

In another part of the field we hear the Welsh- 
man grumbling because the French have attacked 
the luggage and slain some boys. Then he dis- 
plays his learning and accent by comparing 'Alex- 
ander the Pig' and Henry of Monmouth, the latter's 
principal advantage consisting, from his point of 
view, in having been born in Wales! 

While the Welshman's men are still approvingly 
discussing their ruler and his dramatic dismissal 
of Falstaff, Henry appears, exclaiming this is 
the first time he has been angry since landing 
in France, and bidding a herald summon the 
Frenchmen on the hill to fight or leave. A mo- 
ment later the French herald reappears, humbly 
answering Henry's taunt by a request to bury his 
dead. Although Henry still professes not to know 
who has won, the herald assures him he is victor, 
whereupon Henry modestly attributes this triumph 
to God's agency, adding that the battle is to be 
known as Aglncourt, from the castle within sight 
of the field. This decision pleases the Welshman, 
who reminds the King they are countrymen, ere he 
goes to ascertain how many Englishmen have been 
slain. 

The King now summons Williams, who is stand- 
ing near by, and inquires why he wears a glove in 
his cap like a tournament favour? The man rejoins 



148 Life of King Henry the Fifth 

it is the gage of a soldier whom he has pledged him- 
self to strike, and with whom he is to fight. This 
being according to military code, the Welshman 
praises William, ere Henry bids him go in quest of 
his captain. While the soldier is executing this order, 
Henry delivers to the Welshman, Williams' glove, 
bidding him wear it in his cap, claiming to have 
taken it from Alengon in the fray, and that anyone 
who challenges him for wearing it is a friend of that 
traitor! Pleased with such a charge, the Welsh- 
man departs, but has barely gone, when Henry bids 
some noblemen follow him, hinting that the glove 
he wears may earn him a box on the ear which he 
will resent, but adding that he wishes no harm to 
result from this encounter since it is merely a jest. 

A few moments later, Williams having gone to 
Henry's tent to summon the captain, suddenly con- 
fronts the Welshman wearing his glove. Quick 
as a flash the soldier redeems his promise by strik- 
ing his antagonist, who not only resents the blow 
but dubs him traitor! The quarrel such an ac- 
cusation provokes, summons first the Dukes, and 
then the King, who, after gravely listening to both 
sides, demands the soldier's glove, and producing his 
own, proves that they form a pair. When he 
gravely states how this soldier offered to strike him, 
the Welshman clamours the man deserves death, but 
the culprit himself pleads he is not to blame for 
showing disrespect since his King was in disguise, 
cleverly adding, that 'AH offences, my lord, come 
from the heart: never came any from mine that 
might offend your majesty.' His defence is gra- 
ciously accepted by Henry, who bids Exeter return 



Life of King Henry the Fifth 149 

him the glove filled with gold, and begs the Welsh- 
man to forgive him, a pardon he grants, generously 
offering Williams as indemnification for the blow 
a shilling, an immense sum for so thrifty a soul. 

The entrance of the English herald, bringing the 
tak of slaughtered Frenchmen and of prisoners 
taken, now rivets the King's attention. After 
reading this list, Henry ascertains that besides fif- 
teen hundred noble prisoners, the French have lost 
ten thousand men, including some of high degree. 
When he eagerly inquires how the English stand, 
he learns with delight, that aside from York and 
Suffolk, only twenty-five men have been slain, a dis- 
proportion between the losses on both sides which 
calls forth fervent and renewed thanksgiving on his 
part. Then he announces that they will betake 
themselves to the neighbouring village, to sing Te 
Deum in the church there, humbly acknowledging 
that God fought for him. Afterwards he pro- 
poses to hasten back to Calais, going from thence 
to England, 'where ne'er from France arrived more 
happy men!' 

Act V. The fifth act also begins with a chorus, 
relating how the king, after returning to Calais, 
crossed the seas, was rapturously welcomed home 
and modestly gave thanks in Westminster Abbey. 
Then how peace was settled by the Emperor's in- 
termission, ere Henry returned to France. 

The rising curtain reveals the English camp in 
France, where the Welshman, taunted by his cap- 
tain for wearing the traditional leek in his cap, ex- 
plains he does so merely to defy Pistol, whose ap- 
pearance on the scene is the signal for the renewal 



150 Life of King Henry the Fifth 

of a former quarrel. After receiving two blows 
from his truculent Welsh adversary, Pistol becomes 
so humble, that he reluctantly eats the leek at this 
companion's bidding, although when the Welshman 
has gone he mutters he will be revenged, until his 
captain reproves him for insolence and cowardice. 
The captain gone, Pistol concludes fortune Is very 
unkind, for he has just heard his wife Is dead, news 
which determines him to hasten back to England, 
and make his living there by stealing. 

The next scene is played in the French palace at 
Troyes, where the French and English monarchs 
meet. After greeting Charles VI., Queen Isabella, 
Princess Katharine, and the nobles with all due 
ceremony. King Henry receives a kindly welcome 
from Isabella, who hopes soon to see his enmity turn 
Into love, — a wish he cordially reciprocates. The 
great nobles having paid their respects. Burgundy 
proclaims himself equally attached to both monarchs, 
between whom he has been trying to establish peace, 
and adds there Is no reason why this peace should 
not prove lasting and prosperity be restored to 
France whose present state is pitiable. In reply, 
King Henry declares all readiness to make peace, 
provided his demands are granted, and appoints his 
uncle, brothers and two nobles to discuss terms with 
the King of France, granting them full power to 
ratify, augment, or alter the conditions. As the 
King of France leaves the hall with these commis- 
sioners, the Queen decides to follow them to pre- 
vent friction, but consents to leave her daughter 
Katharine In the company of Henry, who gallantly 
states *she Is our capital demand !' 



Life of King Henry the Fifth 151 

Left alone with the King and her hand-maiden 
Alice, the Princess stammers in reply to Henry's 
complimentary address, 'I cannot speak your Eng- 
land.' Henry, who cannot speak French, but nev- 
ertheless hopes to win her as bride, vows he will 
be glad if she can love him; but, when he eagerly 
presses her to say whether she likes him, her innocent 
query in regard to the meaning of the word 'like,' 
wrings from him the assurance 'an angel is like you, 
Kate, and you are like an angel!' a compliment she 
credits only when Alice assures her she has un- 
doubtedly understood it aright. 

Finding his suit, — carried on in English, — does 
not progress as fast as he would like, Henry, who 
has frankly confessed he is no courtier, makes a 
desperate and grotesque attempt to carry it on in 
French, a language the princess politely assures him 
he speaks far better than she does English! But 
when Katharine ventures to answer some of his 
protestations by stating it impossible to love 'de 
enemy of France,' Henry ardently assures her that 
far from being France's enemy, he loves the country 
too dearly to part with its smallest village, adding 
laboriously that 'when France is mine and I am 
yours, then yours is France and you are mine.' 
Then, as this reasoning does not seem sufficiently 
convincing, he adds a blunt, straightforward declar- 
ation of love, which wins from Katharine a maidenly 
Mat is as it sail please de roi mon pere," a response 
which proves so satisfactory that Henry vehemently 
assures her it shall please him, ere he kisses first 
her hands and then her lips, explaining when she 
demurs under plea that it is not usual in France, that 



152 Life of King Henry the Fifth 

'nice customs curtsy to great Kings!' This whole 
courting scene, In broken English, is one of the 
prettiest pieces of graceful comedy the poet has ever 
penned, and as such is deservedly popular. 

It ends vrith the return of the French King and 
his train, the Duke of Burgundy, — ^who has pre- 
sided over the peace negotiations, — playfully inquir- 
ing how Henry has meanwhile sped in his wooing? 
After some exchange of witty repartee with the royal 
suitor, the Duke announces the King of France has 
subscribed to all England's demands. This settled, 
Henry joyfully asks for Katharine's hand, which 
is granted him, it being stipulated that her children 
and his shall reign over France and England after 
the death of the present French ruler. To seal this 
treaty, Henry kisses his bride in the presence of both 
courts, while Isabella calls down Heaven's blessing 
upon them, as well as upon both countries, and all 
present cry Amen! The curtain falls only after 
Henry has announced he will receive the oaths of 
the French nobles on the morrow, pledging his own 
word to Katharine, and solemnly yet joyfully add- 
ing *and may our oaths well kept and prosperous 
be!' 

The epilogue to this play, put in the mouth of 
the chorus, states how from this alliance sprang 
Henry VI., who, at his father's untimely death, 
became King of France and England at nine months 
of age, and how during his reign all the English 
conquests in France were lost. 



HENRY VI. 

PART I 

Act I. The first act opens in Westminster Ab- 
bey, during the funeral of Henry V. whom Bed- 
ford Regent of France, Gloucester Protector of 
England, and other dignitaries escort to the tomb. 
In his grief, Bedford bids the heavens hang them- 
selves with black, and swears 'England ne'er lost 
a King of so much worth,' while Gloucester also 
praises the master who 'ne'er lift up his hand but 
conquered.' Exeter opines all England should 
mourn in blood, for 'the subtle-witted French,' no 
longer afraid of their foes, are rising up against 
them, while the Bishop of Winchester claims that 
Henry fought the battles of the Lord, and was 
aided by the Church. Angry that any glory should 
be ascribed to the priests, Gloucester mutters they 
hastened the King's death, whereupon Winchester 
accuses him of pride. When he adds the taunt that 
Gloucester's wife adores her husband more than 
her God, a quarrel ensues, which Bedford tries to 
check until the funeral is over, fervently praying 
Henry V.'s spirit may keep the realm 'from civil 
broils.* Before the end of the ceremony a mes- 
senger brings bad tidings from France, where the 
English have lost most of their conquests. Hor- 
rified that such a statement should be made in Henry 
V.'s dead presence, Bedford charges the messenger 
to speak softly, while Gloucester Inquires whether 
Paris and Rouen have also yielded. The messenger 
153 



154 Henry VI 

avers lack of men and money brought about this 
calamity, too, ere he urges the English to recover 
what is lost. 

These tidings so appal all present, that Exeter 
exclaims were 'tears wanting to this funeral, these 
tidings would call forth their flowing tides.' Then 
Bedford calls for his armour, to start immediately 
for France, and make the French Veep their In- 
termissive miseries,' just as another courier reports 
the Dauphin crowned at Rheims, and joined 
by Alengon, by the Bastard of Orleans, and by 
Reignier of Anjou. Hearing this, Exeter ex- 
claims the French will now all rally around their 
King, while Gloucester mutters that if Bedford 
proves slack, he will fight the French himself, a 
threat he is grimly assured he will never be called 
upon to execute. 

A third messenger next reports a fight between 
Talbot and the French, wherein the Englishman was 
defeated and taken prisoner, owing to the cowardly 
defection of Sir John Fastolfe. His account of 
the battle of Patay proves so graphic, that it de- 
cides Bedford to start immediately, and 'hale the 
Dauphin headlong from his throne.' As he is about 
to leave, the messenger informs him Orleans is be- 
sieged, and their army so weak and faint that the 
Earl of Salisbury can scarcely restrain his men from 
mutiny. Bedford gone, Gloucester proposes to visit 
the Tower and inspect the artillery, while Exeter 
mounts guard over the young King. Having 
watched the rest depart, Winchester mutters 'each 
hath his place and function,' and jealously adds he 
will not long 'be Jack out of office,' for he fully In- 



Henry VI 155 

tends to gain possession of the King, and 'sit at 
chiefest stern of public weal.' 

Immediately after, we behold the English fortifica- 
tions before Orleans, where after sundry trumpet 
calls, King Charles of France is seen advancing with 
his army. He claims that Mars, hitherto so faith- 
ful to England, now smiles upon the French, who 
have come to succour Orleans, which the English 
have been besieging several months. When Alen- 
gon ascribes the vain efforts of the English to lack 
of their usual fare, Reignier adds It will be easy to 
drive them away. Signalling for attack, Charles 
now calls out in chivalrous fashion, 'him I forgive 
my death who killeth me, when he sees me go back 
one foot or fly.' But, a moment after, the French 
troops are really driven back by the English, Charles 
crying he would stand firm would his men only re- 
main by him! While Reignier exclaims Salisbury 
'fighteth as one weary of his life,' Alengon avers 
Froissart was right when he claimed none but Olivers 
and Rolands were born In England during the 
reign of Edward III. Such is the English courage, 
that Charles favours a retreat, saying hunger will 
enforce the citizens 'to be more eager,' for he feels 
sure they will gnaw their very walls sooner than 
allow their city to be taken. 

Just then the Bastard of Orleans enters, crying 
Charles need not be dismayed, because. Heaven has 
sent a holy maid to raise the siege 'and drive the 
English forth the bounds of France.' When he 
adds that her spirit of prophesy exceeds that of 'the 
nine sibyls of old Rome,' and can descry 'what's past 
and what's to come,' Charles bids the Bastard In- 



156 Henry VI 

troduce this wonder. No sooner has he gone to get 
her, however, than the monarch delegates Reignier 
to occupy his place upon the throne, while he hides 
amid the spectators, saying 'by this means shall we 
sound what skill she hath.' 

These arrangements completed, the Bastard ush- 
ers in Joan, — La Pucelle, — whom Reignier ad- 
dresses, only to be immediately told he can not be- 
guile her. Then, turning her back upon him, Joan 
singles out the real Dauphin, for whom she says she 
has a private message. With the comment 'she 
takes upon her bravely at first dash,' Reignier and 
the rest draw aside, while the Maid informs the 
Dauphin she is an untrained shepherdess, to whom 
appeared the Mother of God, so transforming her 
by her divine glory, that 'whereas I was black and 
swart before,' 'she infused on me that beauty I 
am bless'd with which you see.' Then Joan bids 
the King propound any question he pleases, and test 
her strength, whereupon Charles challenges her to 
single combat, promising to believe in her if she 
vanquishes him. Bidding him prepare, the Maid 
draws a blade she claims to have found in St. Cath- 
erine's churchyard, and the two begin to fight. To 
Charles' dismay, he is promptly disarmed, but when 
he exclaims Joan is an Amazon and fights with the 
sword of Deborah, she modestly rejoins were she 
not helped by Christ's mother, she would be 'too 
weak.' Entreating her aid, Charles promises her 
love in exchange, but Joan replies, 'I must not yield 
to any rites of love, for my profession's sacred from 
above,' adding that when the English are out of 
France she will 'think upon a recompense.* 



Henry VI 157 

From the background, the courtiers watch this 
scene, wondering at its length, and exchanging fa- 
cetious remarks in regard to its subject. Overhear- 
ing Reignier now inquire whether Orleans shall be 
abandoned, Joan exclaims 'fight till the last gasp,* 
promising to be their guard. This pleases Charles, 
as does Joan's boast 'assign'd am I to be the 
English scourge. This night the siege assuredly 
I'll raise.' He urges all to obey her, vowing that 
'glory is like a circle in the water, which never 
ceaseth to enlarge itself till by broad spreading it 
disperse to nought.' Adding that 'with Henry's 
death the English circle ends,' he proclaims the 
Maid, — whom he compares to 'Caesar and his 
fortunes,' — inspired like Mahomet, and declares 
'no prophet will I trust, if she prove false.' 

The next scene is played in London, as the Duke 
of Gloucester arrives with his serving men 'to survey 
the Tower,' for he fears dishonest practices are rife. 
When he haughtily demands admittance, he is sur- 
prised to hear the warder answer him rudely. In 
his anger, Gloucester threatens to break down the 
gates, and his servants are about to rush forward, 
when the lieutenant demands what this means? To 
Gloucester's assertion that he must get in, the 
lieutenant objects that Winchester ordered neither 
he nor any of his pary should be admitted. This 
statement causes Gloucester to denounce the Bishop, 
and charge the lieutenant with being 'no friend to 
God or to the King!' 

They are still disputing when Winchester ar- 
rives with a large retinue. Rudely addressing Glou- 
cester, he receives an equally impolite reply, which 



158 Henry VI 

provokes an exchange of taunts, wherein Winchester 
accuses Gloucester of being 'the proditor, and not 
protector, of the King or realm," while Gloucester 
taxes his foe with encouraging wantonness. Un- 
complimentary speeches are bandied to and fro, until 
Gloucester bids his men attack his opponent. In 
the ensuing fray, Gloucester's men drive away the 
others, but before the battle is ended, the Mayor of 
London appears to reprove both parties for breaking 
the peace. Both Gloucester and Winchester now 
pour out their grievances, and seeing they are about 
to renew the skirmish, the Lord Mayor has the riot 
act read. Unwilling to be *a breaker of the law,' 
Gloucester now desists, promising to meet Win- 
chester where they can break their 'minds at large!' 
Thirsting for just such an opportunity, the cardinal 
vows, he'll have Gloucester's heart's blood, and both 
parties move off, growling defiance. Thus rid of 
conflicting elements, the mayor prepares to depart 
too, wondering that nobles should quarrel thus, 
when 'I myself fight not once in forty year.' 

The curtain next rises on the Orleans ramparts, 
where a gunner informs his son their city is in danger 
of being taken by the English, who are already mas- 
ters of the suburbs. The lad knows this, having 
repeatedly discharged the big gun, although he re- 
gretfully acknowledges he has always failed to hit 
the foe. His father, however, boasts the shot cannot 
fail next time, for he has trained the gun on a cer- 
tain gate, where English officers often come to 'over- 
peer the city.' For three days past he has watched 
this point, to discharge his piece as soon as officers 
appear, and, now being obliged to leave for a while, 



Henry VI 159 

he bids his son mount close guard, and summon him 
should occasion arise. 

The father has no sooner gone than the lad mut- 
ters he will not trouble his parent should he see any 
one at the gate! These words are scarcely uttered, 
when Salisbury, Talbot, and Glandsdale appear on 
the English fortifications. Salisbury is just welcom- 
ing Talbot, who, recently exchanged for a French 
general, relates his captivity and his various attempts 
to secure release. It is evident he still feels sore 
about the defeat of Patay and the defection of Sir 
John Fastolfe, for when asked how the French en- 
tertained him, he feelingly describes the insults 
heaped upon him. He and Salisbury now approach 
the fatal gate, and as they draw near, the boy on 
the Orleans side applies a lighted torch to his can- 
non. Gazing through the bars, Salisbury is just 
assuring Talbot he shall soon have his revenge, 
and is pointing out the spot whence they mean to 
attack Orleans, when there is a flash of light, and 
Salisbury and one of his companions fall. Bending 
over his fallen comrade, Talbot exclaims in horror 
that one side of his head has been blown off, and that 
the victor of thirteen battles is slain! Then he 
vainly tries to win a last word from the sufferer, 
who feebly makes a sign, w^hich is interpreted as 
a demand for revenge. Talbot has just promised 
to avenge Salisbury's death, when a noise is heard 
accompanied by thunder and lightning. 

A messenger then rushes forward, declaring the 
Dauphin is coming with 'power to raise the siege,* 
and accompanied by Joan, a 'holy prophetess new 
risen up.' These tidings cause the dying Salisbury to 



i6o Henry VI 

groan aloud, while Talbot cries he will lead the Eng- 
lish instead of his friend, who is carried off to his 
tent. 

A little while later, we perceive Talbot pursuing 
the Dauphin, but falling back in dismay when Joan 
appears, because his men flee in a panic at the mere 
sight of a woman in armor! When the Maid stands 
close before him, Talbot reviles her, and offers to 
fight, a challenge she accepts. But, in spite of his 
best efforts, she soon gets the better of him, and 
leaves him, contemptuously remarking his hour has 
not yet come, for she must Victual Orleans forth- 
with,' while he helps Salisbury write his testa- 
ment! 

After the Maid has vanished crying, 'this day Is 
ours, as many more shall be,' Talbot confessing 
his 'thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel,' 
implores his companions to renew the fight or re- 
nounce the name of Englishmen! The skirmish 
therefore continues, until, In spite of heroic efforts, 
Talbot perceives Joan has succeeded In entering Or- 
leans. 

A little while later King Charles, and the Maid 
appear on the walls of this city, where Joan bids her 
companions plant their colours, for Orleans has been 
rescued and her promise redeemed. After lauding 
the Maid, Charles declares no greater triumph was 
ever won, while Reignler and Alengon call for gen- 
eral rejoicing. But although the courtiers try to at- 
tribute the glory to the King, Charles ascribes it 
all to Joan, enthusiastically offering to share his 
crown with her, have her praises sung, and honour 
her with a finer tomb than any sovereign ! He adds 



Henry VI i6i 

that her name shall hereafter be used as the French 
rallying cry, and invites all present to a banquet in 
honour of the victory. 

Act II. The second act opens before Orleans, 
where a French sergeant bids his sentries mount 
careful guard. The sentinels are grumbling, when 
Talbot, Bedford and Burgundy draw near with 
forces and scaling ladders, crying the French are 
so secure that they can easily be surprised! Talbot 
rejoices at the prospect of victory, while Bedford 
pronounces Charles a coward for seeking the aid of 
a witch to regain his kingdom! Hearing this. Bur- 
gundy inquires who the Maid may be, only to receive 
from various interlocutors more or less reliable in- 
formation about Joan. 

The ladders placed, Bedford invites Talbot to 
mount first, only to be told It would be wiser to scale 
the ramparts from different points, so if some fail 
others may succeed. This plan being adopted, the 
English reach the crest of the wall before the senti- 
nels can give the alarm. With their battle-cry 'St. 
George' and 'a Talbot,' the English scramble over 
the walls, and a moment later the French escape 
from Orleans In scanty attire. In the fugitives we 
recognise the Bastard of Orleans, Alencon and 
Relgnier, all hotly chiding each other, for not mount- 
ing better guard. They are still discussing the sur- 
prise, and wondering what has become of the King, 
when the Bastard exclaims Joan was with him and 
hence they need feel no anxiety about his safety. 
Just then Charles and the Maid run In, the King de- 
nouncing his companion for having led him Into a 
trap! The Maid retorts that Instead of blaming 



1 62 Henry VI 

her, he should reprove his guards. Then Charles 
accuses the different nobles of poorly defending their 
share of wall, although all deny It. Besides, Charles 
himself acknowledges having spent part of the night 
in going the rounds, to ascertain that the sentinels 
were all at their post. The Maid concludes the 
English found some weakly guarded spot, and is just 
suggesting their forces be rallied so they can retrieve 
the day, when an English soldier rushes forward, 
crying 'a Talbot!' Deeming his companions close 
behind him, the French flee, dropping the clothes 
and valuables they carry, which the soldier collects, 
gleefully exclaiming his ruse has brought him plen- 
tiful spoil! 

The curtain next rises within Orleans, where Bed- 
ford summons the English, and Talbot orders the 
body of Salisbury buried In the centre of the city. 
He wonders where the King, Joan, and their con- 
federates may be, as they must have escaped from 
bed at the first alarm. Burgundy then mockingly 
reports how he saw the King and Joan flee past 
him, arm in arm, like a pair of turtle-doves 'that 
could not live asunder day or night.' The English 
are still on this square, when a messenger Informs 
Talbot the Countess of Auvergne wishes him to visit 
her. After some joking with his companions, Tal- 
bot rejoins that when a lady craves audience a gentle- 
man cannot refuse. He therefore sends his com- 
pliments and promises to call before long, but when 
he Invites his friends to accompany him, they laugh- 
ingly decline, Bedford sagely remarking 'unbidden 
guests are often welcomest when they are gone.' 
Summoning one of his captains, Talbot now whispers 



Henry VI 163 

to him, uttering aloud the final words, 'you perceive 
my mind?' and receiving an affirmative answer, 
grimly watches his man depart. 

In the castle of Auvergne, the Countess charges 
her porter to bring her the keys as soon as her 
visitor has entered. When this man has left the 
room, she murmurs she hopes to outdo the great 
heroines of history by winding her coils around the 
bravest of the English. As her soliloquy ends, a 
servant ushers in Talbot, whom the lady welcomes 
with pretended surprise, saying the man she imagined 
like to a Hercules seems little more than a dwarf! 
This uncomplimentary reception so angers Talbot, 
that he turns on his heel, curtly stating he will visit 
her at a more opportune time. The Countess has 
just sent her page after him to inquire why he is 
leaving so abruptly, when the porter brings in the 
keys. Calling to Talbot that he is now her prisoner, 
the Countess tauntingly adds she means to avenge 
her country's wrongs by making him suffer all she 
can. When Talbot laughs, she vows his mirth will 
soon turn to sorrow, but starts in dismay when he 
rejoins she has only secured Talbot's shadow! He 
soon adds that were his whole frame here, 'your 
roof would not suffice to contain it,' an enigmatical 
remark to which he furnishes the solution by wind- 
ing his horn, whereupon English troops immediately 
force their way into the castle, for they have been 
lying in ambush awaiting this very signal. 

Completely outwitted, the Countess now begs 
Talbot's pardon, which he freely grants on condi- 
tion she feed his men, 'for soldiers' stomachs always 
serve them well.' This scene ends with the Count- 



164 Henry VI 

ess' humble assurance, I 'think me honoured to feast 
so great a warrior in my house.** 

In the Temple Garden in London, some nobles 
congregate after a council, where they have evi- 
dently been quarrelling, since they exclaim this will 
be a convenient place to settle their dispute! At 
these words, Richard Plantagenet, heir of Mortimer 
and York, bids Suffolk proclaim him right and Som- 
erset wrong, a decision this nobleman declines to 
make. Called upon to pronounce judgment in his 
turn, Warwick states it is easier to decide between 
the merits of two hawks, two dogs, two blades, two 
horses, or two girls, than such 'nice sharp quillets of 
the law.' Hearing this, Plantagenet avers the 
truth is plainly on his side, and invites all present 
sharing his opinion to imitate him and pluck a white 
rose from a bush near by. Thereupon Somerset 
summons those who side with him, to pluck red ones 
from another bush. While Warwick plucks a white 
blossom, and Suffolk a red, Vernon suggests that 
the majority of roses decide the quarrel — a decision 
which satisfies both parties. One nobleman after 
another now steps forward to pick his flower, 
proudly justifying his choice, although taunted by 
his rivals. 

These taunts produce friction, especially when 
Somerset accuses Suffolk of being of common 
birth, although Warwick indignantly proves him de- 
scended from Clarence. Then Somerset retaliates 
by charging Plantagenet with being the offspring of 
a traitor. Hearing this, Plantagenet claims his 
father was wrongfully accused, and offers to prove 
it at the point of his sword ! The quarrel becomes 



Henry VI 165 

so acrimonious that Suffolk finally marches away ut- 
tering a defiant speech, and is closely followed by 
Somerset. Plantagenet wonders how he can brook 
such insults, until Warwick reminds him that Par- 
liament will soon decide his case, and that mean- 
while the heads of both parties, Winchester and 
Gloucester, are bound to keep peace. He adds that 
should Plantagenet not recover his title, he will up- 
hold him arms in hand, and solemnly pledges him- 
self always to wear the white rose. Next he proph- 
esies that this 'brawl to-day, grown to this fac- 
tion in the Temple Garden, shall send, between the 
red rose and the white, a thousand souls to death 
and deadly night.' Then, thanking the partisans 
who have loyally sided with him, Plantagenet goes 
away, inviting them to dinner, sure that 'this quar- 
rel will drink blood another day.' 

The curtain next rises on the Tower of London, 
where aged Mortimer is brought into the court by 
his jailers. Bidding them set his chair down in the 
sunshine so he can rest, he declares himself so weary 
that he lives only in the hope of seeing his nephew. 
When the jailer assures him Plantagenet is coming, 
the aged Mortimer exclaims that after seeing him 
he will be able to depart in peace ! 

A moment later Plantagenet appears, and after 
embracing this nephew, whom he hails as the hope of 
the Yorks, old Mortimer sinks back in his chair. 
To account for his delay, Plantagenet relates his 
quarrel with Somerset, who taunted him with his 
father's death. As he wishes to know why his 
parent lost his life, Mortimer explains that his father 
was even better entitled to the crown than Henry 



1 66 Henry VI 

IV. After setting forth the genealogy proving this 
claim, the aged lord relates how, — displeased with 
Henry's government, — the Percys revolted, and tried 
to place York on the throne. As a result, Morti- 
mer was made a prisoner and had to spend the rest 
of his life in the Tower, — ^while his. brother was 
beheaded as a traitor! This explanation satisfies 
Plantagenet his father's execution was an act of 
'bloody tyranny,' a statement his uncle bids him 
never express aloud, since the House of Lancaster 
is as fixed as a mountain and likely to resent it. 
A few moments later, the aged Mortimer breathes 
his last in his nephew's arms, still giving him good 
advice. Pledging himself to give his kinsman a fit- 
ting burial, and mournfully watching the jailers bear 
away his corpse, Richard Plantagenet declares it 
behooves him also to avenge the insult Somerset 
offered his race, and hastens to Parliament to 
secure the restitution of his father's title and estates. 
Act hi. The third act opens in Parliament, 
where Winchester, seeing Gloucester attempt to post 
up a bill, snatches it from him and tears it to pieces, 
bidding him accuse him openly without 'inven- 
tion,' so he can answer with 'sudden and extem- 
poral speech!' Turning upon his opponent, Glou- 
cester now reviles him, accusing him of having twice 
criminally attempted his life! In return Winchester 
denounces Gloucester, telling the lords present his 
antagonist is insulting him wantonly, although they 
are of equal rank. This statement Gloucester re- 
futes, and the quarrel waxes ever fiercer as Somer- 
set and Warwick join in it to support their respec- 
tive parties. 



Henry VI 167 

Meantime, Plantagenet prudently holJs his 
tongue, and young Henry VI., who has watched the 
contention with terror, — piteously implores his 
uncles Gloucester and Winchester to be friends, as- 
suring them 'civil dissension is a viperous worm that 
gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth/ 

This truth_becomes only too apparent when a tu- 
mult arises, which is soon followed by the entrance 
of the mayor, complaining that the followers of 
Winchester and Gloucester, forbidden all other 
weapons, are pelting each other with pebbles! As 
a result, all the windows in the street are broken 
and many bloody heads are to be seen. Through 
the open doors a glimpse is gained of the skirmish, 
which the King implores Gloucester to end. Vow- 
ing that if forbidden stones they will use their teeth, 
Gloucester's servants continue the fight, until he in- 
terferes, and the terrified little King implores Win- 
chester to use his authority in behalf of peace. 
Hearing Warwick urge this too, the churchman 
haughtily vows that unless Gloucester submit he 
will never yield. Out of compassion for the child 
monarch, Gloucester now gives in, and Warwick 
calls Winchester's attention to the fact that his foe 
is holding out his hand In token of reconciliation. 
The bishop, however, seeming unready to meet his 
antagonist half way, is reproached by the King for 
acting so little according to his calling. This re- 
proof being reiterated by Warwick, Winchester re- 
luctantly shakes hands with Gloucester, who realises 
how hollow this truce is when the priest murmurs 
he has no intention of respecting it. 

Meantime, deceived by appearances, the little 



1 68 Henry VI 

King sighs with relief, and dismisses the quarrelling 
servants, who, perceiving their masters hand in hand, 
deem it expedient to cease fighting. All go off, 
therefore, to have their wounds bound, and Warwick 
solemnly presents Plantagenet's petition, which 
Gloucester upholds. Duly prepared for this move, 
the King announces Richard Plantagenet is restored 
to his rank, and at Warwick's suggestion decrees 
he shall have all 'that doth belong unto the house 
of York.' In return for this boon, Plantagenet 
does homage to Henry VI., and while kneeling re- 
ceives again 'the valiant sword of York.' This 
ceremony over, all congratulate the new Duke, save 
Somerset, who grumbles against him. 

'Business settled, Gloucester informs his little 
Majesty it behooves them to cross the seas so he 
can be crowned in France, and they depart. Left 
alone in the hall after the others have marched out, 
Exeter murmurs old dissensions will soon break out 
Into flame, for he fears the fatal prediction that 
'Henry born at Monmouth should win all, a-nd 
Henry born at Windsor should lose all,* may yet 
come true. 

In France, the Maid approaches the gates of 
Rouen, attired like a peasant, and accompanied by 
four disguised soldiers, who bear sacks on their 
backs. Instructing these men to enter with her as 
harmless peasants, Joan proposes to deliver the 
place to the Dauphin, who is lying in ambush out- 
side. With the punning remark that the sacks 
they bear will serve as means to sack the city, the 
soldiers knock, describing themselves to the porter 
as poor peasants coming to market to sell corn. 



Henry VI 169 

Because all such venders are invariably allowed free 
access, the v^atchman lets the group pass in, and 
as they do so, the Maid triumphantly exclaims 
'nov^^, Rouen, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the 
ground.' 

Meanwhile, Charles and his followers arrive, 
the King remarking the Maid is to signal by thrust- 
ing a lighted torch out of the tower window. They 
are grouped together, eagerly gazing upward, when 
Joan suddenly appears on the tower, waving a brand, 
which she joyously dubs 'the happy wedding torch 
that joineth Rouen unto her countrymen.' Sound- 
ing their trumpets, Alengon, the Bastard and Rei- 
gnier force their way in, and a moment later Talbot 
flees across the stage, lustily swearing against the 
Maid, who has forced him thus to retreat. 

After some confused running to and fro, Bedford, 
surrounded by English generals, is brought in a 
chair close to the wall. Within the town are now 
seen the Maid, the King of France and their fol- 
lowers. Hearing Joan taunt them, the Duke of 
Burgundy bids her scoff on, for he will choke her 
ere long! In reply to a taunt from King Charles, 
Bedford suggests that instead of bandying words, 
they proceed to deeds, a remark which makes the 
Maid inquire whether he proposes to 'run a tilt at 
Death within a chair?' This seems too cruel to 
Talbot, who reproves her for defying a half dead 
man, and haughtily challenges her to another duel. 

After putting their heads together for a while, 
the English, who have chosen Talbot as their spokes- 
man, watch him step forward and dare the French 
to meet them in battle on the plain. To this the 



170 Henry VI 

Maid rejoins they would be fools 'to try if that our 
own be ours or not/ only to be told Talbot is not 
speaking to her, but to the warriors, whom he re- 
viles for not acting like gentlemen. The Maid 
now suggests they leave the ramparts, and passes 
out of sight with a jaunty farewell to the foe and 
the remark, 'we came but to tell you that we are 
here.' 

When she has gone, Talbot states unless they 
recover Rouen their reputation will be lost. Ber- 
gundy, too, is anxious to regain the city, but be- 
fore beginning operations, wishes to remove the 
Duke of Bedford. He, however, refuses to budge, 
declaring his presence will encourage the soldiers, 
a spirit his friends admire ere setting off to attack 
the foe. 

Some more fighting ensues, after which Sir John 
Fastolfe flees across the stage, declaring he would 
forsake all the Talbots in the world to save his 
life! He is closely followed by a captain, who 
protests against his cowardly flight. After some 
more excursions to and fro, the Maid, Alengon, and 
Charles escape from the city in their turn, while 
Bedford, perceiving the English have triumphed, 
dies for joy. It is, therefore, only a corpse which 
is borne into the city by Talbot, Burgundy and 
their men, who exclaim that Rouen has been lost 
and recovered in a day! 

After wondering where the Maid and the French 
can be, the English decide to place the recovered 
town under good guard and march off to Paris, 
to witness the coronation of their little King. But, 
before leaving, Talbot gives orders for Bedford's 



Henry VI 171 

burial, declaring 'a gentler heart did never sway in 
court.' 

On the plains near Rouen, the fleeing French 
assemble, the Maid bidding her countrymen not 
grieve over the loss of the city, since *care is no 
cure, but rather corrosive for things that are not 
to be remedied/ When she encourages them with 
hopes of future success, Charles inquires what she 
intends to do; so after some demur, she reveals she 
proposes to win the Duke of Burgundy over to the 
French side. Should this come to pass, Charles 
feels sure the English would soon leave France, so 
he hopefully watches the Maid's efforts. 

Just then trumpets are heard and the English 
march out of Rouen headed by Talbot. They 
have scarcely passed out of sight, when a second 
march ushers in the Burgundians. Bidding the 
French sound a parley, the Pucelle announces she 
wishes to talk to the Duke. Burgundy answers 
these summons by saying he has no time for idle 
talk, and when Charles bids the Maid 'enchant 
him with her words,' he rudely urges her to be 
*not over-tedious.' In an eloquent speech, Joan 
now invites her interlocutor to gaze upon France 
and behold the marks of ruin implanted by years 
of warfare, pleading his arms should rather be 
turned against the common foe, for 'one drop of 
blood drawn from thy country's bosom should grieve 
thee more than streams of foreign gore.' Touched 
by this speech, Burgundy finally mutters she has 
bewitched him or nature is causing him to relent! 

Meanwhile, the Pucelle explains how the Eng- 
lish are merely using him to reach their ends, and 



172 Henry VI 

how, once masters of France, they will discard him. 
Vanquished by these arguments, Burgundy joins the 
French, vowing he will never trust Talbot again. 
Although proud of her victory, the Maid considers 
this 'done like a Frenchman: turn and turn again,' 
(a very unorthodox version of her real sentiments) 
— and while the rest congratulate her upon what 
she has done, Charles invites all present to join 
him and Burgundy and 'prejudice the foe.' 

The next scene is played in the palace in Paris, 
where Henry VI. is seated on his throne, while Tal- 
bot lays his sword at his feet, boasting of his mil- 
itary feats. When Gloucester assures the Monarch 
this is the great Talbot, the little King bids him 
welcome, stating he remembers how his father said 
*a stouter champion never handled sword,' — surely 
a remarkable feat of memory for an infant nine 
months old! In reward for his services, Talbot is 
created Earl of Shrewsbury, and given a share in 
the coronation pageant, and all march out save two 
lords of the Yorkish and Lancaster factions. These 
now renew aloud a quarrel previously begun, and 
after challenging each other, decide to petition the 
King to permit an immediate encounter, for all 
duels have been prohibited during the campaign. 

Act IV. The fourth act opens in Paris, as 
Gloucester invites Winchester to crown the King. 
This done, the governor of Paris takes his oath, 
after which Fastolfe enters, bearing a letter from the 
Duke of Burgundy. Indignant to behold this cow- 
ard, Talbot marches up to him and tears off his In- 
signia of the Garter, proclaiming to all present how 
shamefully Fastolfe behaved at the battle of Patay. 



Henry VI 173 

His explanation satisfies the spectators, and deter- 
mines the King to banish Fastolfe from court 'on 
pain of death.' 

This execution done, Henry VI. begs to hear 
what Burgundy writes, and Glouster, gazing at 
the letter, is surprised to see it is merely addressed 
'to the King of England.' Its contents further 
enrage him, for the Duke states that, moved by 
compassion for his country's woes, he forsakes the 
English to join Charles, 'rightful King of France!' 
This treachery being duly explained to the little 
King, he promptly requests Talbot to punish the 
Duke, saying he wishes he could go with him and 
show Burgundy 'what offence It is to flout his 
friends.' 

When Talbot has departed, the would-be duel- 
ists, supported by their respective masters, present 
their plea, relating how they quarrelled while cross- 
ing the seas, in regard to the colour of their rose 
badges; thus continuing the fight begun in the 
Temple Inn Garden. They and their sponsors 
wrangle on, until the little King exclaims madness 
must prevail, since men can quarrel for so slight a 
cause as the colour of a rose! He Implores both 
Dukes to make peace, a request they heed as little 
as their followers, since they too, challenge each 
other. The King, — ^who Is all for peace, — charges 
all Englishmen to remember it ill becomes them to 
quarrel among themselves when they have other 
foes to contend with. In hopes of ending the strife, 
he further dons a red rose, claiming both Somer- 
set and York as his kinsmen, and begs them to con- 
tinue in peace and love, and vent all their anger on 



174 Henry VI 

the enemy. He next appoints weighty duties for 
each, and states he will now return to Calais and 
from thence to England, where he hopes soon to 
learn they have conquered the French! Thereupon 
Henry VI. marches out, while Warwick murmurs 
the King 'prettily, methought, played the orator.* 
Then, hearing York grumble because the monarch 
assumed Somerset's badge, Warwick vainly tries to 
pacify him, and all finally leave the hall except 
Exeter, who exclaims had York only revealed his 
sentiments, people would have known this mould- 
ering quarrel 'doth presage some ill event.' Besides, 
he feels certain a sceptre in a child's hand must 
bring about ruin and confusion. 

In the next scene the mighty Talbot is summon- 
ing the city of Bourdeaux to surrender, only to be 
warned he is in imminent danger, for trumpets 
herald the approach of the Dauphin. Caught be- 
tween the town and the French army, Talbot 
bravely prays 'prosper our colours in this danger- 
ous fight!' 

The curtain next rises on the plains of Gascony, 
where a messenger, meeting York, reports Talbot 
before Bourdeaux, whither the Dauphin is follow- 
ing him. Angry to think that Somerset, who was 
to send supplies, has failed to do so, York exclaims 
he cannot march on with so small a force, al- 
though Talbot needs reinforcements. Praying 
God comfort his countrymen in this necessity, but 
realising if he is slain, war will soon cease in France, 
York remains inactive. 

When Sir William Lucy also urges him to hasten 
to Talbot's rescue, York rejoins he cannot go, al- 



Henry VI 175 

though he knows Talbot has just been joined by his 
young son, from whom he has been parted for 
seven years. Grieving that the father should wel- 
come this lad to a grave, York marches out, sadly 
saying 'no more my fortune can, but curse the 
cause, I cannot aid the man.' Left alone, Lucy 
comments that while the vulture of sedition 
feeds in the bosom of great commanders, conquests 
are lost and Henry V.'s memory disgraced. 

In another part of Gascony, Somerset receives 
an embassy from Talbot. Declaring it is too late 
to send forces to succour his comrade, who by over- 
daring, has 'sullied all his gloss of former honour,' 
Somerset accuses York of having 'set him on to 
fight and die in shame.' Just then Sir William 
Lucy reports Talbot lost and crying out against York 
and Somerset, whose defection is causing his death. 
Although Somerset now casts the blame upon York, 
Lucy rejoins the latter accuses him, and despair- 
ingly adds 'the fraud of England, not the force of 
France, hath now entrapped the noble-minded Tal- 
bot!' This speech shames Somerset into sending 
horsemen to Talbot's aid, although Lucy fancies 
this help will come too late, and declares 'his fame 
lives in the world, his shame in you!' 

We return to the English camp near Bourdeaux, 
where a wonderful scene occurs between John Tal- 
bot and his son, the father regretting the youth 
should arrive 'unto a feast of death,' and urging 
him to flee for the sake of his mother and family. 
The boy, however, declares his father may flee, 
having already earned a reputation for courage, but 
that he must remain, and when Talbot bids him 



176 Henry VI 

live to avenge him, cries 'here on my knee, I beg 
mortality, rather than life preserved with infamy.' 
When the son, in his turn, pleads v^ith his father 
to escape, the old man proves as obstinate as he; 
so both remain, and after they have taken affection- 
ate leave of each other, the father exclaims 'come, 
side by side together live and die, and soul v^ith 
soul from France to heaven fly.' 

We now see the battle-field, where, in the midst 
of the fight, Talbot's son is rescued by his father, 
who proudly claims he has twice given him life! 
The lad having shown his mettle, is praised for the 
wonders he has done, and again urged to flee since 
he has proved his courage. Not even the prospect 
of future revenge can prevail, however, so both 
plunge back into the fray, exclaiming 'let us die in 
pride,' for neither will consent to abandon the post 
of honour. 

In another part of the battle-field, old Talbot, 
supported by an attendant, later seeks traces of 
his son, describing how the lad protected him when 
in peril. Just then his attention is called to the fact 
that soldiers are bringing in the body of young Tal- 
bot! The father, after bidding the lad a touching 
farewell, clasps him in his arms, crying, 'soldiers, 
adieu! I have what I would have, now my old 
arms are young John Talbot's grave,' and expires. 
The heart-broken father has just breathed his last, 
when the French King enters with the Maid, de- 
claring had York or Somerset supported Talbot, 
the day would have turned out bloody for them. 
Both the Bastard and Maid confirm this verdict, 
and relate how young Talbot defied them, while 



Henry VI 177 

Burgundy exclaims had he lived, he would have 
made a noble knight. On perceiving the young 
hero 'inhearsed' in his father's arms, the Bastard 
fiercely proposes hacking both corpses to pieces, but 
Charles bids him forbear, declaring 'that which we 
have fled during the life, let us not wrong it dead.' 

At this moment Sir William Lucy is ushered in, 
to inquire In regard to prisoners and dead, for his 
task is to compute their losses. When Lucy rattles 
off the imposing string of titles borne by Talbot, 
the Maid contemptuously bids him cease using silly 
terms, as the man he magnifies with 'all these titles, 
stinking and fly-blown lies here at our feet.' Dis- 
covering thus that Talbot is slain, Lucy wishes his 
eye-balls might turn into bullets to hurl against the 
foe, before he begs for the bodies to bury them. 
The Maid advises they be handed over to him since 
their presence putrifies the air, and Lucy bears them 
off, declaring 'from their ashes shall be rear'd a 
phoenix that shall make all France afeard.' This 
scene closes with Charles' invitation to his follow- 
ers to accompany him to Paris, for he feels all will 
be his, 'now bloody Talbot's slain.' 

Act V. The fifth act opens in the palace of 
London, where Henry VL is inquiring of his nobles 
whether they have read the letters from abroad 
suing for peace? As Gloucester is in favour of ac- 
cepting the proposals, the King adds that strife 
always seemed Impious and unnatural between pro- 
fessors of the self-same faith. When Gloucester 
adds that the Earl of Armagnac is offering his 
daughter in marriage with a large dowry, the King, 
although over young to marry, promises to 'be 



178 Henry VI 

well content with any choice which tends to God's 
glory and my country's weal.' Just then Winches- 
ter enters in his new cardinal robes, accompanied by 
legate and ambassador. Because he hates Win- 
chester, Exeter indulges in unkind comments, al- 
though the King announces Winchester shall be his 
peace emissary. Turning to the ambassador, Glou- 
cester then informs him how the King, having 
heard of the virtues and dowry of Armagnac's 
daughter, is ready to accept the proposed alliance, 
in confirmation of which Henry VI. entrusts to him 
a ring for the lady whom he is to escort to Dover. 

All having gone out, save Winchester and the 
legate, the Cardinal disburses the sum promised the 
Pope in return for his new title. Then, in an 
aside, he mutters that thanks to his new dignity he 
can now overawe Gloucester, and make him either 
'stoop and bend the knee, or sack this country with 
a mutiny.' 

In the plains of Anjou, Charles and his forces 
assemble, just as news arrives that the Parisians are 
rebelling against the English. When the Maid and 
generals advise Charles to take advantage of this 
fact, he hesitates, until a scout reports that both 
parts of the English army have conjoined, and are 
about to offer battle. Although this move is un- 
expected, Charles does not flinch, while Burgundy 
hopes the spirit of Talbot is not present since he was 
most feared by the English. The Maid, however, 
prophesies all France will soon belong to Charles, 
who, thus encouraged, goes into the fight. 

The curtain next rises before Angiers, where 
fighting takes place and where the Maid despair- 



Henry VI 179 

ingly cries that, since the French are fleeing, she 
must call up 'y^ choice spirits that admonish' her. 
In the midst of thunder and lightning fiends now 
appear, whom Joan addresses as her 'familiar 
spirits,' entreating their aid. Gazing silently at 
her, they all file past, while she vainly offers to 
feed them with her blood, or to sacrifice to them 
her chastity. Then they vanish, and Joan, real- 
ising that even 'Hell is too strong for me to buckle 
with,' and that France's glory 'droopeth to the 
dust,' vanishes to continue the fight. 

Some time later, in the midst of the fray, the 
Maid is seen struggling with York, who has taken 
her captive. In triumph, he cries he has secured a 
prize, and that her spells and charms will henceforth 
be useless! While the Maid curses him, he taunts 
her, but is surprised when she begins to revile her 
monarch, too. Joan is led away, and the fighting 
goes on until Suffolk drags Margaret of Anjou 
on the scene, as his prisoner. He is, however, so 
fascinated by her beauty, that he wonders who she 
may be, and learning her father is Reignier, King 
of Naples, promises her his protection. Then he 
murmurs he has fallen so deeply in love, that he 
would fain woo his captive, but dares not. He is 
just adding he will have to send for pen and paper 
since he is tongue-tied, when the lady, mystified by 
his queer actions, inquires what ransom he demands ? 
Concluding 'she's beautiful and therefore to be 
woo'd, she is a woman therefore to be won,' Suf- 
folk openly regrets he is provided with a wife. 
Fancying him mad, because he does not answer her, 
Margaret hears him murmur he will woo her for 



i8o Henry VI 

his King, and promise to place a sceptre in her 
hand and a crown on her head ! When she demurs 
that she is unworthy to be Henry's wife, he ex- 
claims he is unworthy to woo for his master, yet 
that he implores her to consent to his royal alliance. 
Because, finally, she refers him to her father, Suf- 
folk summons Reignier to a parley. Appearing 
on the walls, the King of Anjou, seeing his 
daughter captive, offers to come down and discuss 
the proposed alliance. A moment later he joins 
them, and Suffolk after making his proposal, re- 
ceives Reignier's consent, provided no dowry be 
asked and he be allowed to remain in possession of 
Maine and Anjou. After agreeing to these terms, 
Suffolk returns Margaret to her father, promising 
to hasten to England to arrange for the wedding, 
although he murmurs he would fain sue in his own 
behalf. 

After taking leave of Reignier, Suffolk approaches 
Margaret, and when she promises 'a pure unspotted 
heart, never yet taint with love,' to her future 
spouse, he kisses her, under pretext he must bear 
that token to his master, too. Then, watching 
father and daughter re-enter Angiers, Suffolk sighs 
although he would win Margaret himself, he must 
prove so eloquent an advocate, that Henry will con- 
sent to the marriage he has devised. 

The curtain next rises on York's camp, just as 
he orders his servants to bring forth the witch to 
burn her. A moment later the Maid appears on 
the stage, followed by an old shepherd, — her father, 
— who exclaims he has sought her far and near, 
only to behold a sight which is death to him! The 



Hetiry VI i8i 

Maid, however, refuses to recognise the shepherd, 
insisting she is of gentle descent, although the old 
man describes how he married her mother, and calls 
Joan the first born of his children. The fact that 
she disowns her own father, is scornfully com- 
mented upon by Warwick, York and the shepherd, 
who all vainly try to make her admit her origin. 
In despair, the father finally curses Joan, and bids 
the men burn her, for he considers hanging too 
good! He departs after saying this, but when 
York orders the soldiers to lead Joan away she 
cries she will speak. Then she wildly claims to 
be descended from Kings, to be immaculate, and 
chosen from above, vowing her maiden blood 
'will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven!' 
When Warwick coolly orders barrels of pitch placed 
around the stake, Joan, deeming no other plea will 
move such relentless hearts, claims the protection 
of the law in regard to pregnant women. When 
all present exclaim because a virgin makes such a 
plea, and suggest that any offspring of the 
Dauphin should perish, Joan declares he is not at 
fault, and wildly names one French nobleman after 
another. These excuses so enhance her guilt, that 
she is ordered off to the stake, and leaves the stage, 
cursing France and all around her, and saying 
'darkness and the gloomy shade of death environ 
you, till mischief and despair drive you to break 
your necks, or hang yourselves!' This curse is an- 
swered by one equally lurid on the part of York as 
she is led away to death. 

A little later, Winchester greets York, informing 
him peace has been concluded with the Dauphin 



1 82 Henry VI 

and the French. These tidings prove unwelcome 
to the Duke, who would have preferred to fight 
It out, and who foresees that if trickery is used, the 
realm of France will soon be lost. A moment later 
Charles approaches with his train, announcing he 
has come to learn the English conditions for peace. 
At York's request, Winchester explains that Henry 
w^ill suspend war, provided Charles will become his 
subject, pay tribute, and consent to act merely as 
England's viceroy. Although Alengon deems these 
hard conditions, and Charles urges he has already 
recovered half his realm, York so berates him, that 
his friends advise him in a whisper to conclude the 
truce 'although you break It when your pleasure 
serves.' Thus over-persuaded, Charles consents, 
and after swearing allegiance to England, dismisses 
his army, while peace is proclaimed. 

In the London palace, Suffolk gives the King 
such a glowing account of Margaret's beauty, that 
he thereby breeds 'love's settled passions' in the 
royal heart. But when Henry VI. asks Glouces- 
ter's consent to this marriage, the Protector reminds 
him he has recently entered into a contract with the 
daughter of Armagnac, which cannot honourably 
be broken. Determined to reach his ends, Suffolk 
objects an Earl's daughter Is unworthy of consid- 
eration, and when Gloucester remarks Margaret is 
scarcely more, claims her father Is titular King of 
Naples and Jerusalem. He finally so fires Henry 
VI.'s youthful Imagination, that the latter decides 
the question, promising If Margaret will cross the 
seas, he will make her his 'faithful and anointed 
Queen.* 



Henry VI 183 

Then, Henry VI. authorises Suffolk to col- 
lect one-tenth of the kingdom's revenues to defray 
travel expenses, and leaves the stage w^ith Glouces- 
ter, who greatly disapproves this move. Left alone, 
Suffolk triumphantly announces he has prevailed, 
claiming that just as Paris bore Helen over to 
Troy, he will bring Margaret to England, to rule 
the King, although he fully intends to 'rule both 
her, the King and realm.' 



HENRY SIXTH 



PART II 



Act I. The first act opens in the palace in 
London, when the Duke of Suffolk delivers up to 
his master 'the fairest Queen that ever King re- 
ceived.' After w^elcoming Margaret of Anjou 
with a kiss, Henry VI. prays every earthly bless- 
ing may accompany them, while she returns his 
greeting by terming him 'alder-liefest sovereign.' 
Commenting upon her beauty, which is equalled 
only by her sweet speech, Henry bids the lords do 
homage to her, and after the Queen has graciously 
thanked them, Suffolk delivers the articles of peace 
to Gloucester. Glibly enough the latter reads 
aloud the marriage contract; but when he sees 
Anjou and Maine were surrendered to Reignier, 
his voice falters, and Winchester, at the King's re- 
quest, finishes the perusal. Pleased with his bride, 
his Majesty rewards Suffolk with a duchy, relieves 
York of his regency over the ceded parts of France, 
and thanking the rest for their services, bids them 
prepare for Margaret's coronation. 

When the royal party has left, Gloucester la- 
ments that France, conquered by Henry V., should 
be thus tamely relinquished. His passionate, in- 
dignant speech makes Winchester exclaim they 
will keep France, although Gloucester demonstrates 
Anjou and Maine are its keys. The other nobles 
agree with him, and Warwick rages because towns, 
won by his sword, are thus ceded peacefully. All 
marvel at a royal marriage where the bride brings 
184 



Henry VI 185 

no dowry, until Winchester reproves Gloucester 
for speaking too freely, thus making the latter re- 
join that if he remains here they will doubtless re- 
new their former quarrels. He therefore departs, 
bidding all present remember 'France will be lost 
ere long. 

After he has gone, Winchester hints that because 
Gloucester is next heir to the crown, he is court- 
ing the good-will of the people, who may yet find 
him 'a dangerous protector.' This reminds Buck- 
ingham that Henry is now old enough to govern 
alone, so he suggests they oust Gloucester from 
office. Not only does Winchester warmly sub- 
scribe to this, but promises to win over Suffolk. 
When he has gone, Somerset suggests he or Buck- 
ingham should take Gloucester's place and influence 
the King. They, too, departing, Salisbury bitterly 
comments 'pride went before, ambition follows 
him,' ere he adds these two work only for their 
own advancement. He declares he never saw any- 
thing objectionable in Gloucester's conduct, and 
that he mistrusts Winchester. Then, turning to his 
son (Warwick), and his brother (York), he sug- 
gests they three unite to curb the pride of Suffolk, 
Winchester, Somerset and Buckingham, a proposi- 
tion Warwick cordially accepts, but York only con- 
ditionally, as is proved by his muttered aside. This 
settled, Salisbury suggests they set things in train, 
although still sighing because Anjou and Maine are 
already lost. 

Left alone, York murmurs Paris is as good as 
lost, Normandy wavering, and the King wholly 
absorbed in his bride, who brings great trials to 



1 86 Henry VI 

England. Then, foreseeing Gloucester and the 
peers will soon quarrel, he decides to bide his time, 
to raise the standard of York, and compel Henry 
to relinquish the crown. 

The curtain next rises at the Duke of Glouces- 
ter's, where his wife, Eleanor, wonders why he looks 
so downcast, when he might assume the crown 
whose cares have rested on his shoulders so many 
years. When Gloucester sternly bids her 'banish 
the canker of ambitious thoughts,' and ascribes his 
dejection to a dream, she coaxes him to narrate it 
in exchange for one of hers. Then he relates how 
he dreamt that his staff of office lay broken in 
twain, while on either half rested the heads of 
Somerset and Suffolk. His wife interprets this 
to signify that those who interfere with him will 
surely lose their heads, and states she dreamt she 
was enthroned at Westminster, where Henry and 
Margaret did homage to her! Such a vision seems 
so presumptous to Gloucester, that he chides her, 
saying it should satisfy her to be the second lady in 
the realm, and that unless she is more careful, she 
will tumble her husband and herself 'from top of 
honour to disgrace's feet!' Seeing his anger, the 
Duchess pleads this was only a dream, and has 
barely pacified him, when a messenger comes to in- 
vite him to St. Albans, where the King and Queen 
are hawking. Instead of accompanying Gloucester, 
Eleanor promises soon to follow him, muttering 
after he has gone, 'follow I must; I cannot go be- 
fore, while Gloucester bears this base and humble 
mind.' Then she grimly adds that, were she in 
her husband's place, she would soon 'remove these 



Henry VI 187 

tedious stumbling-blocks and smooth my way upon 
their headless neck.' 

A moment later her secretary addresses her as 
Royal Majesty, a title which surprises her until he 
explains it was promised her by a witch. When he 
offers to show her how this woman calls up spirits 
from the underworld, the Duchess eagerly accepts, 
and bestows upon him a reward. Left alone, the 
secretary proposes to make merry with her gold, 
revealing how he has been hired by Suffolk to un- 
dermine the Gloucesters, a feat he expects to ac- 
complish, thanks to Eleanor's ambitions, for they 
plan to attaint her, as a first step in Gloucester's 
downfall. 

In the palace, petitioners eagerly await the Lord 
Protector, and when Suffolk enters with the Queen, 
one of them by mistake, thrusts his petition at him. 
His attention thus attracted, Suffolk seizes the pe- 
tition, and shows the Queen it is addressed 'To my 
Lord Protector.' After examining all the papers, 
she finds they contain sundry complaints, for one ac- 
cuses Suffolk of dishonesty and another states the 
Duke of York claims the throne. This latter claim 
so enrages the Queen, that Suffolk orders the ac- 
cuser detained, so his case can soon be heard. Then, 
to suppress the petition against her favourite, Suf- 
folk, the Queen tears all the rest to pieces, under 
pretext they are addressed to the Protector, and not 
to the King, showing such wrath that the petitioners 
flee. 

Addressing Suffolk fiercely, Margaret indig- 
nantly demands whether her husband will always 
have to remain under tutelage, vowing she would 



1 88 Henry VI 

never have married him had she not fancied he re- 
sembled Suffolk 'in courage, courtship and propor- 
tion.' She bitterly adds his time is so taken up 
with prayers and religious rites, that she wishes 
'the college of the cardinals would choose him Pope 
and carry him to Rome.' When Suffolk implores 
her to be patient, she complains she is surrounded 
by Gloucester, Winchester, Somerset, Buckingham, 
and York, all of whom seem far more powerful 
than their Monarch. But Suffolk assures her his 
faction, including the Nevils, Salisbury, and War- 
wick, will soon prove more influential still. The 
Queen, however, now angrily admits that all the 
peers together do not vex her so much as that 
*proud dame,' the Lord Protector's wife; who 
sweeps through the court, bearing 'a duke's reve- 
nues on her back,' and boasting that one of her 
trains far outvalues all Reigner's estates. Hearing 
what umbrage Eleanor has given, Suffolk informs 
the Queen Gloucester will soon be disgraced, and 
her foes so weeded out that she can 'steer the 
happy helm!' Meanwhile, he suggests they side 
with Winchester and his friends, as they will thus 
more promptly rid themselves of Gloucester. 

At this moment, trumpets announce the entrance 
of the King, who remarks it is indifferent to him 
whether Somerset or York hold the reins of state. 
Haughtily, York states if he did demean himself in 
France, — as his enemies state, — he should be denied 
the regency, while Somerset rejoins that did he feel 
unworthy he would yield his place to York. Hear- 
ing Warwick pronounce York the more deserving 
of the two, Winchester contradicts him, and a quar- 



Henry VI 189 

rel ensues, in which even the Queen takes part. 
Finally, Gloucester endeavours to still it by remark- 
ing his Majesty is old enough to decide, w^hereupon 
Margaret retorts such being the case, he needs no 
further Protector! 

Calmly, Gloucester explains that although he 
has protected the realm, he is ready to resign his 
office w^henever his Majesty v^ishes, while Suffolk 
mutters he protected England until it is wrecked! 
When Winchester, Suffolk, Buckingham and the 
Queen further proceed to accuse Gloucester of 
plundering the commons, squandering great wealth, 
showing extreme cruelty, and sacrificing the Eng- 
lish conquests in France, he abruptly turns on 
his heel and silently marches out of the room. The 
Queen, who has dropped her fan, now rudely boxes 
the Duchess' ears because she does not immediately 
stoop to pick it up, and Eleanor, resenting such 
treatment, hisses that if she could only come near 
the Queen's beauty with her nails, she would set 
her 'ten commandments' in her face! Because the 
gentle King tries to pacify her, he is warned his 
wife will yet ruin him, ere the Duchess marches out, 
declaring not even the Queen 'shall strike Dame 
Eleanor unrevenged.* She is followed by Buck- 
ingham, who triumphantly whispers to Winchester 
'her fury needs no spurs, she'll gallop far enough 
to her destruction.' 

Having cooled his wrath by a walk in the quad- 
rangle, Gloucester returns to show his real devotion 
to King and country by advising Henry to appoint 
York as regent of France. When Suffolk objects 
that York is unfit, the latter rejoins he is consid- 



190 Henry VI 

ered so, merely because he refuses to flatter Suf- 
folk's pride, and adds he knows Somerset will try 
to detain him in England until France is lost. The 
fact that he was denied due assistance once before, 
is corroborated by Warwick, just as two prisoners 
are brought in who accuse York of treachery. Be- 
cause Warwick and the King show surprise, Suf- 
folk explains how one of these men overheard the 
other declare the Duke of York was rightful heir 
to the English crown and the King a mere usurper. 
To elicit the truth, Henry closely questions the 
prisoners, one of whom asserts York did make this 
claim, although he now denies it. In his be- 
wilderment, Henry VI. then asks Gloucester's ad- 
vice, and is told to make Somerset regent of France, 
appointing a day when these two men can prove 
their veracity in a judicial duel. Although Suf- 
folk rejoices at this decision, one of the prisoners 
seems terrified at the mere idea of resorting to arms, 
while the other seems eager for the fray. 

We now behold Gloucester's garden, where the 
witch arrives with the Duchess' secretary, who bids 
her carry out her promises. These two are accom- 
panied by Bolingbroke, who is to play a part in this 
trickery, and who gleefully assures the secretary the 
Duchess will require all her courage to face their 
magic, as he and one of his confederates intend to 
be busy down 'below.' After he has gone, the 
secretary directs the witch to throw herself upon the 
ground, and sets her accomplices to work. A mo- 
ment later Eleanor appears on the balcony, begging 
an answer to her questions as soon as possible. In 
reply, Bolingbroke states spirits appear only in dark- 



Henry VI 191 

ness, and cautions her not to be afraid whatever 
she may see. Then he draws a circle, and reads 
a Latin conjuration, after which, amid lightning 
and thunder, a spirit slowly rises from below. 
From this spirit the witch obtains replies to three 
questions she reads aloud. The first is "What shall 
become of the King?" to which answer is given that 
the Duke who is to depose Henry, is still alive, 
but will die a violent death. When asked what 
will befall the Duke of Suffolk? the spirit rejoins, 
*He shall die by water,' and to the third question, 
which regards the fate of Somerset, it advises him 
to shun castles! Then, as it obstinately refuses to 
speak any more, the spirit is sent back 'to darkness 
and the burning lake,' amid much thunder and 
lightning. 

At that moment, York and Buckingham break 
into the garden to arrest all present as traitors, for 
incantations are actionable. Because her husband 
is Protector, Eleanor considers these threats vain, 
until Buckingham orders her and the rest removed. 
Then he and York examine the premises, and read 
aloud the paper whereon the spirit's answers have 
been jotted down by one of the conjurors. They 
conclude treachery is patent, and propose to carry 
this document to the King, who is hunting at St. 
Albans with the Lord Protector, for whom these 
tidings will 'make a sorry breakfast.' Rejoicing 
at the speedy humiliation of a hated foe, Buck- 
ingham goes off to announce at court what has been 
discovered, while York sends a servant to invite 
Salisbury and Winchester to sup with him on the 
morrow. 



192 Henry VI 

Act II. The second act opens at St. Albans 
just as King, Queen, and courtiers return from the 
hunt, commenting upon their sport. Presently, 
the conversation turns to politics, and the two fac- 
tions begin to quarrel, egged on by the Queen, who 
takes an active part in all such frays. The re- 
marks they make become so bitter, that secret chal- 
lenges are exchanged, before the King can silence 
the strife. 

A townsman now proclaims that a blind man has 
received his sight at St. Albans' shrine, and the 
pious and credulous Monarch is just giving fervent 
thanks, when the Mayor enters, followed by others, 
bearing aloft on a chair the person upon whom the 
miracle was wrought. Brought before the King, 
Henry questions him, only to learn he was born 
blind, a fact his wife confirms. Next the man re- 
veals how he was called in his sleep to visit this 
shrine. When Winchester comments on his lame- 
ness, he ascribes it to a fall from a tree while 
picking plums, a statement so suspicious, in con- 
nection with his alleged lifelong blindness, that 
Gloucester begins to examine him, pretending to 
think he cannot yet see. Not only does the man 
insist his sight is good, but answers all Gloucester's 
questions in regard to colours, displaying such sus- 
picious knowledge for a man born blind, that the 
Protector discovers he is a lying knave! 

Then, turning to all present, Gloucester inquires 
whether they care to witness a second miracle, and 
sending for a stool, directs the man to jump over it 
under penalty of being whipped. At first the 
cripple insists he cannot move, but at the first stroke 



Henry VI 193 

from the beadle's whip, leaps nimbly over the stool, 
while the assistants jeeringly exclaim another miracle 
has indeed been performed! To discourage further 
impositions of this kind, Gloucester then orders 
both man and wife whipped through every market 
town, until they reach home. 

The rabble gone, Winchester and Suffolk com- 
ment upon 'Gloucester's miracle' until Bucking- 
ham appears, when the King inquires what news he 
brings? In reply, Buckingham reports the arrest 
of the Protector's wife, as ring-leader in dangerous 
practices against the state and against the royal 
life. These tidings please Winchester, but when 
he ventures to taunt Gloucester, this afflicted noble- 
man bids him not trouble a man in dire distress! 
As far as he himself is concerned, Gloucester has 
loved his King and the commonweal above all else; 
so he sadly states that if his wife so far forgot 
honour and virtue as to betray them, he abandons 
her to the law. After deciding to remain at St. Al- 
bans for the night, the King promises to proceed to 
London on the morrow, and there 'poise the cause in 
justice's equal scales, whose beam stands sure, whose 
rightful cause prevails.' 

In a garden in London we overhear York talk- 
ing to Salisbury and Warwick after supper, in re- 
gard to his title to the English crown. When his 
interlocutors beg him explain his rights, York gives 
his genealogy, proving that he descends from an 
older son of Edward III. than the present King, 
a fact neither Warwick nor Salisbury can deny. 
By his exposition it seems plain the crown would 
have gone to Edmund Mortimer, had he not been 



194 Henry VI 

Owen Glendower's prisoner, and when York adds 
that he now Inherits these claims, his friends rec- 
ognise he has the best right to the crown. For that 
reason Warwick halls him rightful sovereign, while 
Salisbury acclaims him 'Richard, England's King!' 
After thanking them both, York rejoins he will not 
be King until crowned, and until his sword has 
been stained 'with heart-blood of the House 
of Lancaster.' Meantime, he advises his partisans 
to wink at SufFolk's Insolence, and bear with Beau- 
ford's pride and Somerset's ambition, until they 
can dispose of Gloucester, when It will be time 
enough to turn against their tools. This settled, 
the conspirators separate, Warwick predicting that 
'the Earl of Warwick shall one day make the 
Duke of York a King,' in return for which flat- 
tering promise, York assures him Warwick shall 
then *be the greatest man in England but the 
King!' 

The royal party is seen in the Hall of Justice, 
where the Duchess of Gloucester and her accom- 
plices have just been tried. Bidding Dame Eleanor 
stand forth, the King informs her she is sentenced 
to death; but, that while four of her companions 
will be executed, and the witch burned, she will 
merely undergo public penance, and be banished to 
the Isle of Man. While the Duchess bitterly ex- 
claims banishment Is welcome, her husband moans 
he cannot justify her since the law has condemned 
her, and sadly watches her led away. Then he begs 
permission to depart, too, since 'sorrow would 
solace, and mine age would ease.' Accepting his 
resignation, Henry VI. announces he will hence- 



Henry VI 195 

forth be his own Protector, while his Queen joyfully 
welcomes this first sign of independence. 

When Gloucester has gone, Elizabeth exclaims 
they are sovereigns at last, and Suffolk openly re- 
joices that Gloucester's pride should be abased and 
Eleanor shamed! The royal party are about to 
leave, when York reminds them they still have a 
judicial combat to witness. Hearing this, the King 
issues all necessary orders, while York remarks he 
never saw anyone so terrified as one of the cham- 
pions. 

In the next scene we behold the master-armourer, 
attended by his neighbours, plied with drink, while 
his opponent is supported by the apprentices in the 
same way. Healths galore are drunk, and many 
good wishes and witticisms uttered, ere the signal 
for the fight is given. After a brief encounter, the 
apprentice fells the armourer, who, before dying, 
confesses he is guilty of treason. Thereupon, the 
apprentice boastfully proclaims right has prevailed, 
and the King orders the corpse removed and the 
victor rewarded. 

The curtain next rises on a street, where Glouces- 
ter and his servants are stationed, and where the 
ex-Protector is anxiously inquiring the time? On 
hearing it is ten, he pities his poor wife whose ten- 
der feet must tread these cold sharp stones! All at 
once Eleanor draws near, escorted by the sheriff, 
draped in a penitential sheet, holding a taper, and 
followed by a mob. But when the servants 
indignantly propose to snatch their mistress from the 
sheriff, Gloucester sadly bids them respect the law. 
Beholding her husband, the Duchess wonders 



196 Henry VI 

whether he has come to witness her shame, and in 
reply to his recommendations to be patient, de- 
nounces him for not defending her, and accuses her 
foes of having entrapped her. Then she bids the 
too credulous Gloucester beware, lest his 'foot be 
snared,' a warning he scorns, saying one must of- 
fend before being attainted, and that twenty times 
more foes than she claims assail him, will do him 
no harm as long as he is 'loyal, true and crimeless.' 

He is just reminding his wife her penance will 
soon be over, when a herald summons him to Par- 
liament at Bury next month. Although surprised 
Parliament should be convened without his knowl- 
edge, Gloucester promises to be present, and when 
the herald has gone, commends his wife first to the 
sheriff's tender mercies, and then to those of Sir 
John Stanley, who is to convey her to the Isle of 
Man. 

When the Duchess demands why he does not take 
leave of her, Gloucester exclaims his tears speak 
for him, and, after watching him out of sight, 
Eleanor begs to be removed as quickly as possible, 
showing relief when told she will be treated accord- 
ing to her rank. Her pathetic farewell to the 
sheriff, — ^who regrets having been compelled to dis- 
charge a painful office, — is scarcely over, when 
Stanley bids her throw aside her penitential sheet 
and array herself for their journey, although she 
bitterly exclaims her shame cannot be shifted with 
her garb, and she longs to hide forever behind prison 
walls. 

Act hi. The third act is played in the Abbey at 
Bury St. Edmund's, just as the King opens Parlia- 



Henry VI 197 

ment. His Majesty is wondering at Gloucester's 
absence, when the Queen suddenly points out a man, 
so altered by sorrow, as to be unrecognisable. 
Still, she insists Gloucester has recently shown a 
stiff, unbending demeanour, and exclaims he is plot- 
ting against his King, — gossip confirmed by Suffolk, 
Buckingham and York. All unite in accusing 
Gloucester of evil practices, cruelty, and misappro- 
priation of funds, hinting, besides, these are trifles 
compared to matters time will yet bring to light! 
Although touched by his friends' solicitude 'to mow 
down thorns that would annoy our foot,' Henry VI. 
deems his uncle innocent, while the Queen insists 
'the welfare of us all hangs on the cutting short 
that fraudful man.' 

Just then Somerset enters, announcing the defi- 
nite loss of France, news the King receives with 
pious resignation, but which York, in an aside, 
keenly regrets, since he had hoped soon to rule over 
France and England too. He has just muttered, 
'I will remedy this gear ere long, or sell my title 
for a glorious grave,' when Gloucester approaches 
the King, apologising for his absent-mindedness. 
Before his plea can end, Suffolk arrests him on a 
charge of high treason, to which Gloucester 
haughtily rejoins a 'heart unspotted is not easily 
daunted.' When York accuses him of receiving 
bribes in France, Gloucester states how, instead, he 
often advanced money to pay the soldiers, and in re- 
ply to the accusation that he often devised strange 
tortures, he claims his one fault as Protector was 
too great leniency. Instead of asserting his au- 
thority, the feeble King urges Gloucester to clear 



198 Henry VI 

himself from all charges, although he admits 'my 
conscience tells me you are innocent!' After warn- 
ing his Majesty against his accusers, — although they 
protest, and the Queen scornfully remarks 'I can 
give the loser leave to chide,' — Gloucester is led 
away, exclaiming, 'King Henry throws away his 
crutch before his legs be firm to bear his body.' 

Gloucester gone, the King sadly leaves the cour- 
tiers to 'do or undo' as they think best, and with- 
draws, telling his wife he will go and weep for Glou- 
cester, whom he considers remorselessly sacrificed by 
his foes. While some of the courtiers follow him, 
the Queen, turning to the rest, states her husband is 
far too tender-hearted, and that Gloucester 'should 
be quickly rid the world, to rid us from the fear 
we have of him.' But Winchester insists his death 
should at least appear legal, and Suffolk reminds 
all present how the King and commons would de- 
fend him. Because York deduces from this that 
Suffolk does not wish Gloucester to die, this noble- 
man assures him no one is more eager for the Pro- 
tector's death, although York has the most cause 
to dread this rival. After some discussion, — in the 
course of which the Queen approves of all Suf- 
folk says, — all present pledge themselves to ruin 
Gloucester, just as a messenger arrives from Ireland, 
demanding help to quell a rebellion. While Win- 
chester is of opinion speedy measures should be de- 
vised, York sarcastically suggests Somerset be sent 
thither as Regent, seeing he was so fortunate in 
France! This taunt causes Somerset to interfere, 
whereupon York asserts had he been sent to 
France, he would not have lost all and returned 



Henry VI 199 

home, — as Somerset has done, — without a wound! 
The old quarrel is thus about to be renewed, when 
the Queen calls the nobles to order. After some 
discussion it is decided York shall proceed to Ire- 
land, whither Suffolk Is to forward him troops. 
Meanwhile, Winchester Is to attend to Gloucester, 
so all separate to attend to their different affairs. 

The rest having gone, York exclaims all he 
hitherto lacked was men, and that this rebellion in 
Ireland will supply him with an army, which will en- 
able him to obtain the throne of England. Mean- 
time, he grimly warns those who have hitherto 
scorned him, 'I fear me you but warm the starved 
snake, who, cherish'd In your breasts, will sting 
your hearts.' Next he reveals that Jack Cade, per- 
sonifying Mortimer, will stir up trouble in Eng- 
land, in the midst of which he intends to return 
from Ireland with an army, to reap the harvest 
Cade sows, and, Gloucester dead, to usurp Henry's 
place on the throne. 

The scene again changes to Bury St. Edmunds, 
where two murderers enter, whispering the Duke 
of Suffolk should be informed Gloucester has been 
slain as he ordered. One of these men, stricken 
with remorse, wonders whether ever so penitent a 
criminal was seen, just as Suffolk enters, eagerly 
inquiring how they sped? On hearing Gloucester 
Is dead, he promises the murderers a reward, after 
making sure all has been arranged just as he pre- 
scribed. 

A moment later the King enters, ordering his 
uncle Gloucester summoned to be tried. While 
Suffolk goes in quest of the accused, the King bids 



200 Henry VI 

the Lords be seated, and charges them to 'proceed 
no stralter 'gainst our uncle Gloucester than from 
true evidence of good esteem he be approved in 
practice culpable.' The Queen, also, virtuously 
hopes justice w^ill prevail, thus greatly pleasing the 
King. 

Just then Suffolk re-enters, pale and trembling, 
and in reply to Henry's questions, reports Glouces- 
ter dead in bed ! While the Queen exclaims, Win- 
chester deems this the fulfilment of God's judg- 
ment; and as the King swoons, a commotion en- 
sues and remedies are suggested, until, returning to 
his senses, the Monarch vv^onders whether he has 
heard aright? Because he shrinks from Suffolk, 
the bringer of bad tidings, the Queen hotly defends 
this nobleman, who avers that although Gloucester 
was his enemy, he mourns his death. Meantime, 
the King refuses to look at the Queen, who won- 
ders whether Gloucester poisoned his mind against 
her, and tries to move him by feelingly describing 
all she suffered on her way to join him. 

A disturbance without heralds the arrival of 
Warwick, Salisbury and some commoners. After 
demanding whether it is true Gloucester has been 
slain, Warwick states 'the commons, like an angry 
hive of bees that want their leader, scatter up and 
down and care not who they sting in his revenge.' 
Sadly rejoining it is only too true the Duke of 
Gloucester is dead, the King bids Warwick ascer- 
tain what can have caused this sudden demise, charg- 
ing Salisbury while he does so to hold the multitude 
In check. 

The King has just been praying God to avenge 



Henry VI 201 

his uncle's murder, when Warwick re-enters, fol- 
lowed by bearers with the body, which is laid at 
the King's feet, while Warwick proclaims villainous 
hands have been laid upon this mighty corpse! 
When Suffolk demands what warrant he has for 
such a statement, Warwick points out the blood- 
shot face, the starting eyes, and describes how hair 
on the sheets testified to a violent struggle. When 
Suffolk indignantly exclaims he and Winchester, — 
who had charge of the Duke, — are no murderers, 
Warwick hints they were, nevertheless, the dead 
man's bitter foes. In anger the Queen wonders 
bow anyone can suspect Suffolk of taking Glouces- 
ter's life, whereupon Warwick rejoins that seeing 
a butcher with bloody axe beside a heifer, one nec- 
essarily concludes he slew the animal! Turning 
to Suffolk, the Queen then sarcastically inquires 
whether he is a butcher, thus forcing him to bluster 
that although his sword is 'rusted with ease,* It 
is ready to prove his innocence. Winchester, 
Somerset and others are just leaving, when War- 
wick mutters he will meet this foe, with whom he 
exchange taunts, which cause the Queen to sneer, 
while the King sighs that a heart untainted is 
man's best defence. 

Because Suffolk and Warwick now re-enter with 
drawn weapons, the King chides them for appear- 
ing thus, although Suffolk claims he has been at- 
tacked. A moment later the commoners arrive, 
and are charged to wait in the adjoining room, while 
Salisbury informs the King of their demands. 
Then, addressing Henry, he states Suffolk must 
either be condemned to death or banishment, or the 



202 Henry VI 

commoners will do justice upon him, for they be- 
lieve him guilty of Gloucester's death. Undaunted 
by the clamour of these 'rude unpollsh'd hinds/ 
Suffolk defies them, while the King bids Salisbury 
assure them he appreciates their affection and will 
banish Suffolk. 

Salisbury having gone to deliver this message, 
the Queen pleads for 'gentle Suffolk,' but Henry 
insists that having promised he must keep his word. 
Turning to Suffolk, the King then bids him depart, 
warning him should he be found in England three 
days hence, 'the w^orld shall not be ransom for thy 
life.' After ordering Warwick to attend him, 
Henry leaves the stage, where the Queen and Suf- 
folk linger alone, her majesty vehemently cursing 
husband and counsellors, and wondering why Suf- 
folk does not curse them too. From his point 
of view curses are Inadequate, as he sets forth in 
a speech which comforts the Queen. When he 
groans, however, at the thought of leaving her, 
Margaret gives way to her grief, confessing It Is 
harder to part with him than to die. Banishment 
from her seems so cruel to Suffolk, that after bidding 
her 'live thou to joy thy life,' he despairingly as- 
sures her his sole satisfaction henceforth will be to 
know she is alive. 

As they are about to separate, a messenger rushes 
through the hall, and when asked where he Is going, 
replies that Winchester, seized with mortal Illness, 
Is calling for the King, muttering queer remarks 
about Gloucester. While he hurries on to deliver 
this message, the queen wonders how she can live 
without Suffolk, from whom she reluctantly parts, 



Henry VI 203 

assuring him a faithful messenger will enable them 
to correspond. 

The curtain next rises in the bed-chamber, where 
Henry VI., Salisbury and Warwick have come to 
visit Winchester. Bending over the sick man, the 
King implores him to speak, while Winchester, 
fancying his majesty is Death, beseeches him to let 
him live. Hearing these entreaties, the King feels 
sure only one who has lived an evil life can deem 
the approach of death so terrible! When War- 
wick in his turn, tries to make Winchester recog- 
nise his master, the dying man wails they can bring 
him to trial for he is ready to confess all about 
Gloucester. As his wild words betray his knowl- 
edge of some guilty secret, the King, watching him 
pass away, bids him hold up his hand if he thinks 
of God and heavenly bliss. Seeing Winchester 
makes no sign before expiring, Henry solemnly 
charges all present 'forbear to judge, for we are 
sinners all.' 

Act. IV. The fourth act opens on the coast of 
Kent, after a fight at sea, just as a captain boasts 
of his prisoners, among whom is Suffolk. After 
questioning them, the captain decides to pardon 
some and ransom others, reserving Suffolk for Im- 
mediate execution. In hope of escape, Suffolk re- 
veals who he is, but the captain decrees that a man 
who betrayed the King by making love to the Queen 
deserves to die! Although such death seems un- 
worthy of a man of his rank, Suffolk rejoins 'true 
nobility Is exempt from fear,' and when the sailors 
rail at him, as he Is led away, reminds himself how 
a slave killed Tully, how Brutus stabbed Cssar, 



204 Henry VI 

how savage Islanders slew Pompey the Great, and 
adds he is about to perish at the hands of pirates! 
The captain has just ordered the other prisoners 
released, when the executioner returns, and flings 
Suffolk's body at his feet. One of the prisoners Im- 
mediately oilers to take charge of It, murmuring he 
will carry It to the King, and that, should his Maj- 
esty refuse to bury It, the Queen will do so, since 
living she 'held him dear.' 

A number of labourers assembled on Blackheath 
are noisily proclaiming Jack Cade will change the 
face of England, make them all magistrates, and de- 
liver the wealth of the land Into their hands! But, 
when Cade himself joins them, boasting his father 
was a Mortimer and his mother a Plantagenet, they 
mutter his parents were only common people, since 
he was born under a hedge! Rashly promising 
when he is King that seven half-penny loaves shall be 
sold for a penny, and beer pots be double the present 
size, Cade Is cheered by his rude followers, who 
next propose to kill all lawyers. This move meets 
Cade's approval, because the only time he used a 
seal it led to his undoing, and he sentimentally 
argues 'is not this a lamentable thing, that the skin 
of an Innocent lamb should be made parchment? 
that parchment, being scribbled o'er, should undo 
a man?' A clerk being brought before him, he 
sentences him to death for reading and writing! 

A moment later, when told the Staffords are draw- 
ing near with the King's forces. Cade exclaims noble- 
men can only fight men of their own rank, and 
kneeling down, knights himself. When the Staf- 
fords appear, promising pardon to all who submit, 



Henry VI 205 

Cade claims to be true heir to the throne, and sets 
forth his parentage so defiantly, that the Staffords 
feel sure York must be prompting him. But, in 
an aside, Cade asserts he invented this story him- 
self, and, in his turn, offers to act as protector for 
King and realm. Without paying further heed to 
his pretensions, Stafford bids a herald proclaim 
that all who follow Cade are rebels, and will be 
treated accordingly, ere he goes away. Meantime, 
Cade urges the rioters to march on to London, kill- 
ing all save 'such as go in clouted shoon,' since 
those in his estimation are the only thrifty men in 
the realm! 

In another part of the Blackheath an encounter 
takes place between the King's forces and those of 
Cade, whose butcher friend does doughty deeds. 
After donning the gaudiest garments he can strip 
from the dead, Cade proposes the bodies of his vic- 
tims be dragged to London whither he Is bound 
to free all prisoners. 

The curtain next rises in the capital, where the 
King enters a hall reading a supplication, and the 
Queen bearing Suffolk's head! Having heard that 
grief softens the mind, Margaret wonders how any- 
one can gaze without weeping at the severed head 
she lays on her throbbing breast! Meanwhile, 
Buckingham inquires what answer Henry VL pro- 
poses to make to the petition he holds? Humanely, 
the King decides to parley with Cade, leader of the 
rebels. Then noticing his wife's sorrow, he ques- 
tions how she would have acted had he been 
slain, and hardly believes her assertion 'I should 
not mourn, but die for thee.' Just then, a mes- 



2o6 Henry VI 

senger reports the rebels are already at Southwark, 
where Cade is proclaiming he will be crowned in 
Westminster Abbey! So it is suggested his Majesty 
should retreat, until forces can be raised to put down 
the rebels, who have slain both Staffords, while the 
Queen wails that were only Suffolk alive, the trouble 
would soon be quelled. When another messenger 
reports Cade has secured possession of London 
Bridge, the King and Queen hastily depart, for their 
advisers assure them no one can be trusted. 

We next behold the Tower, whence the gov- 
ernor inquires whether Cade has been slain? The 
citizens below rejoin he is killing all who resist, 
and that the Lord Mayor begs the governor of the 
Tower help him save the city. Although short- 
handed, the governor promises aid, but warmly 
urges the citizens themselves to 'fight for your 
King, your country and your lives.' 

In Cannon St., Jack Cade arrives with his rebels, 
and, striking London-stone, proclaims himself 
master of the city, condemning to death any who 
venture to address him save as Lord Mortimer. He 
has just ordered wine to flow from all the conduits, 
when a soldier rushes in, calling him by name, for 
which he is immediately slain. Then, learning an 
army is on its way. Cade orders the burning down 
of London Bridge and the Tower to check its 
advance. 

After defeating the royal troops in Smithfield, 
Cade hotly bids his men pull down the Savoy, and 
burn the records of the realm, proclaiming that once 
he is King, his mouth shall be England's sole par- 
liament and people shall hold all things in common. 



Henry VI 207 

Then he accuses one of his aristocratic prisoners 
of having sold France, and of raising the taxes, 
and after proffering equally ridiculous charges 
against others, sentences them all to death. Next 
the heads of the two Staifords are ordered placed 
on poles, and when brought before him, are made 
to kiss, on the plea that these men loved each other 
when alive! Cade also bids the rioters use these 
heads as standards when they sack the city, making 
them embrace at every corner. 

The next scene is played in Southwark, where 
Cade enters with the rabble, bidding them knock 
down all who oppose them or throw them in the 
Thames! When Buckingham and Clifford appear 
as royal emissaries to offer pardon to all who will 
return to their allegiance, the rebels cry 'God save 
the King,' but as soon as Cade reviles them, the 
mutable multitude again wildly promise to follow 
him. Reminded by Clifford that they are turning 
against the son of Henry V., they respond to this 
appeal to their patriotism, and veer about once more, 
until Cade wonders whether a feather was ever *so 
lightly blown to and fro as this multitude?' Feel- 
ing unsafe, he finally decides to hide, and slips away 
under cover of the tumult. On discovering he has 
gone, Buckingham promises a reward of a hundred 
crowns to any man who brings his head to the King. 

We next behold Kenilworth castle, where King, 
Queen and Somerset appear on the terrace, his 
Majesty moaning no monarch ever commanded so 
little quiet as he, and confessing his sole ambition 
is to be a subject. As he concludes this speech, 
Buckingham and Clifford announce the rebellion 



20 8 Henry VI 

quelled, as is proved by the arrival of its leaders, 
w^ith halters around their necks. Because the ever 
merciful King forgives the rebels and dismisses them 
to their various counties, they joyfully scatter cheer- 
ing loudly, 'God save the King!' 

They have barely gone, w^hen a messenger re- 
ports York on his way from Ireland vs^ith a power- 
ful army, to remove Somerset, whom he terms a 
traitor, and accuses of giving the King bad advice. 
Moaning that between Cade and York the realm 
is like a tempest-tossed ship, the King bids Buck- 
ingham meet this new foe and inquire why he comes 
hither in arms? Henry adds, that to satisfy York, 
Somerset shall be sent to the Tower, a humiliation 
this nobleman accepts for the country's weal. Then, 
the King leaves the scene with the Queen, hoping 
soon to learn to govern wisely, so his people may 
not have cause to curse his reign. 

The curtain next rises on a garden in Kent, where, 
after hiding in the woods for five days, the famished 
Cade arrives in quest of vegetables to sate his 
hunger. He Is soon disturbed by the contented 
master of the garden, whom he fiercely threatens, 
stating he must either steal a meal or starve ! The 
owner of the garden, fights and defeats his op- 
ponent, who, when dying, reveals his identity. Con- 
cluding he has performed a worthy deed, the master 
of the garden proposes to treasure his sword here- 
after as a relic. Then the rebel having expired on 
his soil, he drags the corpse to the dung-hill, and 
cuts off his head, which he intends to bear in 
triumph to the King, leaving the trunk 'for crows 
to feed upon.' 



Henry VI 209 

Act V. The fifth act opens on Blackheath, 
where York arrives with the Irish army, declaring 
he has come to 'pluck the crown from feeble 
Henry's head!' A moment later Buckingham ap- 
proaches, saying he is sent to greet him in case he 
means well, a speech which only serves to rouse 
York's wrath. Still, when he hears Somerset is In 
the Tower, he consents to dismiss his army, and 
orders his sons to be sent to the King as hostages. 

Buckingham is about to escort York to the royal 
tent, when .Henry himself appears, and beholding 
them arm in arm, concludes peace has been made. 
He therefore questions York, who admits he came 
to fight Somerset and Cade. Just then the latter's 
head is laid at the King's feet by the master of the 
garden, and proves so welcome a trophy that, in 
return. His Majesty hastens to knight and reward 
the slayer. 

All is promising well, when Margaret appears 
with Somerset, who, after all, has not been im- 
prisoned, and whom it would have been wiser to 
keep out of York's sight. On beholding his foe, 
York reviles Henry VI. and vows he shall no 
longer rule over England! Because such a speech 
is high treason, Somerset immediately arrests York, 
who, instead of kneeling as he is told, calls for his 
sons, declaring they will defend him. Because 
Margaret refuses to accept these youths as hostages^ 
York denounces her in no measured terms, just as 
his sons Edward and Richard appear, closely fol- 
lowed by the two Cliffords. 

Seeing Clifford do homage to the King, York 
asks him why he does not bend the knee before him, 



210 Henry VI 

as he is rightful monarch? Not only does Clif- 
ford deny this claim, but declares York and his sons 
are prisoners. Because York summons Salisbury 
and Warwick to his aid, Clifford hisses if they 
are York's bears, he will soon bait them to death, 
and is amazed to see them refuse the usual homage 
to Henry. In reply to a royal reproof, Salis- 
bury states they have decided York is rightful heir 
to the English throne, and when the King reminds 
them of their oath of allegiance, he adds *it is a 
great sin to swear unto a sin, but greater sin 
to keep a sinful oath.' Hearing this, the King 
bids Buckingham defend his cause, while York de- 
fies both him and Clifford! The scene closes, 
therefore, after an exchange of challenges, with the 
exit of the contending parties in opposite directions, 
both fully determined to settle their quarrel by 
battle. 

At St. Albans, this battle is waged between the 
Yorkist and Lancastrian factions, during which 
Warwick loudly calls for Clifford to come and 
fight him, after vainly seeking him on the field. 
Instead of Clifford, York appears, reporting a recent 
encounter between them. Then, as Clifford draws 
near, Warwick exclaims the time has come for one 
or both to die, and prepares to fight him. But 
York, — who hates Clifford too, — persuades War- 
wick to yield him first claim and depart. After an 
exchange of taunts, Clifford and York fight, and the 
latter triumphing, hastens away just as Clifford's 
son arrives on the scene. On perceiving his father's 
body, the youth gives vent to grief, vowing this 
sight has frozen all pity in his veins, and swearing 



Henry VI 211 

that hereafter he will unrelentingly pursue the house 
of York! 

He has barely removed his father's remains, when 
York and Somerset enter fighting. Before long, 
Somerset falls, and his opponent utters a speech of 
triumph over his body. More fighting ensues ere 
the King and Queen flit across the stage, his Majesty 
pitifully moaning it is impossible to outrun heaven! 
Indignant because he will neither fight nor flee, 
Margaret starts on hearing trumpets, and declares 
that should they fall in the foe's hands they will 
'see the bottom' of their fortunes. Still, if they 
can only escape to London, she hopes they may yet 
retrieve the day. Just then, young Clifford joins 
them, urging them to flee, and predicting the 
time will come when Henry will triumph and his 
enemies be defeated. 

The last scene in the play occurs In the fields 
near St. Albans, whence the Yorkists retreat with 
drums beating and colours flying. Because York 
inquires what has become of Salisbury, Richard ex- 
plains that he was thrice in danger, thrice 
helped to remount, and thrice rescued, the 'will in 
his old feeble body' having enabled him to do won- 
ders on the field. Then Salisbury himself appears, 
congratulating York upon the result of the day, 
thanking Richard for having saved him, and an- 
nouncing their foes have fled! Hearing this, York 
decides to follow them to London, where the King 
proposes to summon Parliament, and where it be- 
hooves him to arrive before the writs can be issued. 
This Warwick considers sound advice, but before 
leaving he proclaims that 'St. Albans battle, won 



212 Henry VI 

by famous York shall be eternised in all age to 
come.' Then he invites all present to escort York 
to London, and the play closes with his hope that 
many 'more such days as this to us befall!' 



HENRY VI 



PART III 



Act I. When the Duke of York enters the Par- 
h'ament House at London with his son and ad- 
herents, Warwick inquires how King Henry man- 
aged to escape after the battle of St. Albans? In 
reply York explains that white the King stole away, 
the Duke of Northumberland, 'whose warlike ears 
could never brook retreat,' fought on with Clifford 
and Stafford until all three were slain. York has 
just heard his son Edward account for the missing 
Duke of Buckingham, and his brother for the Earl 
of Wiltshire, when his third son Richard advancing 
flings at his feet Somerset's head, grimly bidding 
it speak for him. These tidings, and the token just 
received, seem welcome to York, as do the blood- 
thirsty threats of his sons and followers, and when 
Warwick urges him to seat himself on the throne, 
he consents to do so provided this nobleman and 
Norfolk will uphold him. 

York, thus seated on the throne, Warwick ad- 
vises him to offer no violence to Henry unless the 
latter try to oust him by force. To this, York 
maliciously rejoins that the Queen is coming, and 
little expects his presence at her council. Such be- 
ing the case, Warwick grimly predicts that unless 
weak Henry is deposed, and York put in his place, 
this will deserve to be termed 'the bloody parlia- 
ment.' Barely has York been assured of the sup- 
port of his chief adherents, when a blast of trum- 
213 



214 Henry VI 

pets ushers in Henry VI. and his train. On be- 
holding a subject in his seat, Henry indignantly 
points him out to his followers, calling their atten- 
tion to the fact that the usurper is supported by 
their foe, Warwick. Still, when his suite volunteer 
to pluck York from the throne, Henry bids them 
be patient, for their opponents have soldiers at their 
back, and he does not wish Parliament turned into 
shambles. Instead of deeds of violence, therefore, 
he advocates 'frowns, words, and threats,' and 
petulantly orders the Duke of York to descend from 
his throne and beg his pardon kneeling. Insultingly 
retorting he is the sovereign to whom Henry should 
kneel, York starts an altercation with the King, 
while the partisans on both sides show unrelenting 
hatred for one another. When King Henry finally 
demands what title his rival has to the throne, War- 
wick, after railing at him for losing France, chal- 
lenges him to prove a better right, which Henry 
feebly strives to do, although confessing in an aside 
it is weak indeed. Not being able to rest his claim 
satisfactorily on descent, Henry finally bases it upon 
Richard's resignation, although York reminds him 
that was compulsory. 

So lame is Henry's defence that some of his fol- 
lowers then and there forsake him, and York's par- 
tisans are thereby encouraged to uphold their mas- 
ter's claims. When York therefore again summons 
Henry to resign in his favour, Warwick threatens 
unless he immediately does so, the house will be 
filled with armed men. To prove how readily he 
can carry out this threat, he stamps, and soldiers 
appear on all sides. Perceiving there is no escape, 



Henry VI 215 

Henry weakly consents to York's succeeding him, 
provided he is allowed to enjoy the crown as long as 
he lives. This base consent on Henry's part so ex- 
asperates Northumberland, Clifford and Westmore- 
land, that they hotly denounce him, exclaiming, 
'farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate King, in 
whose cold blood no spark of honour bides,' and 
hasten off to apprise the Queen how meanly Henry 
has deprived his son of his birthright. 

While Henry mournfully watches them march 
out of the hall, Warwick bids him pay no heed to 
such rebels, and insists upon his ratifying his prom- 
ises. This done, York takes an oath of allegiance, 
and his partisans acclaim King Henry, ere sallying 
forth to disband their useless armies since they have 
obtained all they wish. The King is about to leave 
the hall after them, when Queen Margaret ap- 
proaches with the Prince of Wales. 

To avoid her anger, Henry and Exeter try to steal 
away, but Margaret blocks their path, and although 
her husband entreats her to be patient, reviles him 
volubly for forfeiting his son's rights. When the 
Prince too, adds reproaches, Henry humbly begs his 
son's pardon, vowing York and Warwick con- 
strained him,— an excuse Margaret is ashamed to 
think a King can proffer. In her indignation, she 
declares they are no longer safe, refuses to have any- 
thing more to do with her husband, and bids her 
son follow her, for she proposes to raise an army 
to uphold his rights. Although Henry vainly tries 
to pacify them both, they promptly depart, and 
after they have gone, he apologetically explains the 
Queen's extreme affection for him and for her child 



2i6 Henry VI 

made her give way to this outburst of wrath. Still, 
he secretly hopes she may yet be revenged upon 
York, and, mindful of recent defections, proposes to 
'entreat' the lords fair, reserving himself for some 
better occasion. 

The next scene occurs in Sandal castle, where 
two of York's sons discuss with their uncle who 
should act as spokesman, a question they have not 
settled when the Duke of York comes in, inquiring 
whom they wish to address and what is the subject 
of contention ? Richard now informs him they were 
discussing his claim to the crown of England, which 
they opine he should enjoy immediately, although 
he reminds them of his recent oath. Edward, — 
who has no respect for a promise, — impetuously de- 
clares he would 'break a thousand oaths to reign 
one year*; while Richard, more subtle, demon- 
strates an oath is not legal unless taken before a 
magistrate, and that the King, having been deposed, 
could neither exact nor receive such a promise as 
was made to him. He therefore urges his father 
to assume the crown, 'within whose circuit is Ely- 
sium and all that poets feign of bliss and joy.' 

Because these arguments are backed by his 
own secret desires, York finally decides he will 'be 
King, or die,' and directs his three relatives to 
visit sundry partisans, keeping their intentions se- 
cret, so the King may not perceive their drift. But, 
even before these three men can depart to carry out 
his orders, a messenger reports the Queen approach- 
ing with a force of twenty thousand men to besiege 
the castle. Hearing this, York orders both his sons 
to stand by him, and despatches his brother Mon- 



Henry VI 217 

tague to London to summon his partisans, caution 
Warwick and the rest to mount close guard, and 
above all not to trust 'simple Henry nor his oaths.' 

After Montague has gone, various noblemen 
come in, whom York adjures to help him in the 
coming siege. While he is still talking, military 
music resounds, and Edward, turning to his father, 
proposes they arm for battle, to which York con- 
sents, — although they have to fight one against 
four, — for he remembers brilliant successes in France 
under even more trying circumstances. 

The curtain next rises on the battle-field between 
Sandal castle and Wakefield, just as Rutland, 
York's youngest son, arrives there with his tutor, 
wondering where he can flee to escape from the 
foe? It is written he should not do so, because 
soldiers now seize them, and, after sending the 
tutor away, Clifford, himself, prepares to slay this 
tender offspring of a house he has sworn to destroy 
root and branch. Because young Rutland has 
fainted with terror, Clifford grimly waits until he 
recovers, and when the lad entreats to be spared, 
shows pitiless cruelty, for he sacrifices him to his 
father's memory only after torturing him with 
threats. This done, Clifford goes off vowing Rut- 
land's blood shall remain upon his sword, until it 
has been dipped in his father's gore as well! 

In another part of the battle-field, after some con- 
fused fighting, York is heard proclaiming the 
Queen's army victorious, his uncles slain, and crying 
he does not know what has befallen his sons, al- 
though they saved his life sundry times. Listening 
to the turmoil, he tries to descry which way the tide 



21 8 Henry VI 

is turning, and suddenly realising fortune is against 
him, just when he is too exhausted to flee, he de- 
spairingly murmurs 'the sands are number'd that 
make up my life.' Just then. Queen Margaret and 
her adherents draw near; so, entirely surrounded, 
York proudly answers the taunts of North- 
umberland and Clifford, exclaiming 'my ashes, as 
the phoenix, may bring forth a bird that will re- 
venge upon you all.' Seeing Clifford about to deal 
this foe a deadly blow. Queen Margaret stays his 
hand, vowing she wishes the traitor's life prolonged 
for the sake of tormenting him. Then, while her 
suite hold the struggling York, Margaret cruelly 
taunts him, even offering him a napkin dipped in 
Rutland's blood with which to dry his tears. Not 
only does she thus gibe at him herself, but urges her 
suite to join in the merry sport, and finally crowns 
York with a paper diadem, bidding all do mock hom- 
age to the usurper of King Henry's throne. 

After bearing this torture stoically for a while, 
York fiercely turns upon Margaret, terming her 
'she-wolf of France,' and reviling her with great 
force of invective. He insists his tears flow solely 
for the death of his young son, of whom he speaks 
so movingly that even Northumberland can scarcely 
withhold his compassion. Then York goes on to 
say that when it becomes known how cruelly Mar- 
garet treated him, the w^orld will sympathise with 
him and abhor her. Without heeding this, the 
Queen taunts those who pity him, until Clifford 
draws near and stabs York to avenge his father's 
death. The Queen deals her thrust, too, and York 
expires exclaiming, 'open Thy gate of mercy. 



Henry VI 219 

gracious God ! My soul flies through these wounds 
to seek out Thee.' Then, seeing her enemy dead, 
Margaret orders his head set on York gate, — still 
crowned with paper, — as an example of the treat- 
ment all traitors can expect! 

Act II. The second act opens in Herefordshire, 
where the forces of Edward and Richard of York 
meet. After wondering whether his father managed 
to escape from Clifford and Northumberland, Ed- 
ward inquires why Richard appears so sad ? There- 
upon this youth describes that he last saw York, like 
a baited bear, closely surrounded by foes. Even 
w^hile he is talking, three suns appear in the sky, 
and seem to come together and form but one. Be- 
cause such a phenomenon has never before been 
seen, Edward opines it portends something extraordi- 
nary for him, and decides to wear three shining suns 
upon his shield hereafter, a decision which causes 
his brother Richard punningly to remark he had bet- 
ter bear three daughters, seeing he has such a weak- 
ness for women! 

At this juncture a messenger appears, whose dole- 
ful looks forebode ill tidings, and announces that the 
Duke of York is dead. Although Edward shudder- 
ingly exclaims he has heard too much, Richard in- 
sists upon knowing exactly how his father perished, 
so the messenger graphically describes the Duke's 
pitiful death. His account infuriates Edward, who 
declares Clifford has 'slain the flower of Europe for 
his chivalry,' and fancies he shall never joy again. 
Richard, however, exclaims he cannot show his sor- 
row by tears, but longs for revenge, and will achieve 
it, *or die renowned by attempting it.' Although 



220 Henry VI 

Richard bears his father's name, Edward vows he 
will prove his descent by claiming not only the 
dukedom, but the throne, as his father's heir. 

A moment later a march is heard, and Warwick 
and others join the young princes. When he inquires 
the news, the bereaved sons rejoin their father 
is dead, news Warwick learned ten days ago. Since 
that disastrous encounter at Wakefield, however, he 
has met the Queen's army at St. Albans, — where he 
suffered defeat, — and he now describes how his 
prisoner, King Henry, escaped to join his victorious 
Queen. Warwick has retreated hither, hoping to 
make a successful stand with Edward, aided by the 
Yorkists, camping six miles off with their Bur- 
gundian allies. These tidings so stimulate Edward 
and Richard, that, after consulting Warwick, they 
decide to march on to London and take possession of 
the capital. Hearing this bold plan Warwick hails 
Edward as Duke of York, and promises soon to 
make him King of England, whereupon the young 
monarch solemnly pledges himself never to draw 
back until he has obtained the throne. 

Just then a messenger reports the King advanc- 
ing with a powerful force, so, instead of marching 
on to London, the Yorkists prepare for fight. Soon 
after the scene shifts to the gates of York, where, 
after a flourish of trumpets, King Henry, Queen 
Margaret, their son and partisans, appear in brave 
array. After welcoming her husband, Margaret 
points out to him above the gateway 'the head of 
that arch-enemy that sought to be encompass'd 
with your crown,' — a sight which 'irks' Henry's 
very soul. Hearing him make this remark, Clif- 



Henry VI 221 

ford deems him too lenient, since 'ambitious York 
did level at thy crown,' and hence deserved the fate 
that overtook him. Although Clifford plays the 
orator well, Henry ruefully argues 'things ill-got 
had ever bad success,' and grieves his crown did 
not come to him more honestly. Such faint-heart- 
edness is not approved by his wife, who, hoping to 
change his ideas, now suggests he knight his son, 
which Henry does on the spot. 

A moment after, a messenger bids them prepare 
to face Warwick, who is coming to challenge them 
in behalf of the new Duke of York, recently pro- 
claimed King. When Clifford suggests Henry's 
leaving them so they can fight unhampered by his 
presence, this Monarch decides to stay, and his fol- 
lowers significantly hope it will be 'with resolution 
then to fight.' The Prince of Wales eagerly urges 
his father to unsheath his sword and give the sig- 
nal when the opposing army marches in, and Ed- 
ward of York haughtily summons 'perjured 
Henry' to kneel for grace and relinquish his diadem, 
or bide 'the mortal fortune of the field.' Before 
her husband can answer, Margaret reviles this pre- 
sumptuous speaker, who answers by stating Parlia- 
ment has decreed he should be King. A dispute 
now arises between Clifford and Richard, — repre- 
sentatives of either party, — after which Warwick 
haughtily demands that Henry 'yield the crown.' 
Again it is Margaret who answers, and only after 
the quarrel has raged some time does Henry VI. 
mildly claim a chance to be heard. The dispute 
is, however, so acrimonious that it continues until 
Edward, accusing Margaret of being cause of all 



222 Henry VI 

the misfortunes which have visited England, refuses 
to parley any longer, and marches off, declaring her 
'words will cost ten thousand lives this day.' 

The curtain next rises on the battle-field of Tow- 
ton, where after some skirmishing, Warwick is seen, 
so exhausted by past efforts, that he is anxious to lie 
down a while and rest. While he reposes there 
panting, Edward rushes on the stage, wildly calling 
for victory or death. At the same moment his 
brother George comes in from the other side, re- 
porting their ranks broken and ruin near. When 
he inquires what they are to do, Edward declares 
flight will be bootless, just as Richard joins them, 
hotly reviling Warwick for having withdrawn from 
the fight, and announcing Clifford has just slain his 
brother! His description of the bravery this 
brother showed, stimulates Warwick to new efforts, 
and makes him vow never to pause or stand still 
'till either death hath closed these eyes of mine or 
fortune given me measure of revenge.' This ex- 
ample so stimulates Edward, Richard and George, 
that all leave the stage determined to do their best. 

In another part of the field, Richard is next seen 
furiously challenging Clifford, who boasts having 
slain his father and brother, but who, after fight- 
ing with him for a while, flees when Warwick also 
comes up to attack him. Pleading with Warwick 
to allow him to 'hunt this wolf to death,' Rich- 
ard rushes off in pursuit of Clifford, whom he has 
sworn to kill. 

In a different part of the field, King Henry de- 
scribes how the battle has fluctuated this way and 
that, like driving clouds, sadly declaring he would 



Henry VI 223 

fain be some poor shepherd, — whose humble avo- 
cations he feelingly describes — knowing he would en- 
joy them far more than royalty, which has brought 
him naught but sorrow. While he is musing thus, 
a youth brings in a slain prisoner to rob, only to dis- 
cover to his intense horror that he has killed his 
own father, who fought in the opposite faction. His 
grief touches King Henry, who is further disturbed 
by the advent of an old man, bringing in his vic- 
tim, whom he discovers to be his only son. In the 
midst of this turmoil of grief, and while the others 
bear off their dead to bury them, Henry's voice 
arises, proclaiming the War of the Roses a curse 
to England, and terming himself a *sad-hearted man 
much overgone with care. 

Just then noisy trumpet blasts resound, and Queen 
Margaret, the Prince and Exeter rush across the 
stage. Perceiving Henry, they frantically bid him 
flee from Edward and Richard, who 'like a brace 
of greyhounds' after a hare, are panting for their 
lives. The King feebly entreats them to wait for 
him, not 'that I fear to stay, but love to go whither 
the Queen intends,' and tamely follows them. 

In another part of the field the wounded Clif- 
ford soliloquises over the situation, exclaiming had 
the sun only tarried, the House of York would not 
have triumphed as it did. Too weak to fight any 
longer, he sinks fainting to the ground, just as Ed- 
ward, George and Richard enter, exulting over their 
victory, and wondering whether their foe, Clifford, 
escaped with the King? Warwick is of opinion 
he can not have done so, since Richard wounded 
him severely enough to cause death. Just then, 



224 Henry VI 

Clifford's dying groan attracts their attention, and 
they begin searching the battle-field, intending, 
should they find his remains, to place them on the 
gates of York instead of those of their father. On 
discovering the corpse they seek, all three taunt 
Clifford, vainly hoping sufficient life still lingers to 
enable him to understand their w^ords. Their 
heartless speeches, however, fall on deaf ears, and 
Warwick, perceiving his foe is really dead, orders 
his head chopped off and placed on York gate. 
Then he proposes to hasten off to France, and sue 
for the hand of Bona, daughter of Louis XL, for 
King Edward of York. The prospect of a royal 
alliance so flatters this youth's vanity, that he bids 
Warwick carry out this plan to the best of his 
ability, and, on the battle-field, creates Richard, 
Duke of Gloucester, and George, Duke of Clarence, 
ere inviting both these brothers to escort him to 
London for the coronation ceremonies. 

Act IIL The third act opens in the forest. In 
the north of England, where keepers, tracking deer, 
describe how they propose to lie in wait in the 
thicket. All at once King Henry appears in dis- 
guise, confessing he has secretly stolen across the 
frontier for the pleasure of setting foot once more 
upon his own land. Hearing this statement, the 
keepers prepare to seize the intruder, just as he mut- 
ters his wife and son have gone to France to claim 
the aid of the King. Still, as he has heard War- 
wick was also bound thither to sue for the French 
princess' hand, Henry fears this nobleman's elo- 
quence may prevail, and Margaret's entreaties prove 
vain. 



Henry VI 225 

This soliloquy so amazes the keepers that they 
wonder who Henry may be, and when he enig- 
matically rejoins, 'more than I seem, and less than I 
was born to,' they question him until he admits he Is 
the King. But, when they naively inquire where is 
his crown, Henry sadly informs them his 'crown is 
called content.' Such a statement is far too subtle 
for their comprehension, so they volunteer that the 
only King they now recognise is Edward, although 
Henry reminds them they once swore allegiance to 
him. Finally, they decide to lead their captive be- 
fore the magistrate, and convey him o£E the stage, 
unresisting as usual. 

When the curtain again rises, it reveals the palace 
at London, just as King Edward enters with his 
brothers and Lady Grey. After explaining to his 
kinsmen how this lady's husband was slain at St. 
Albans, fighting on their side, Edward adds she 
has come to beg the restoration of her estates, a 
boon his brothers think he should grant. Because 
he seems reluctant to address the lady in their pres- 
ence, Gloucester and Clarence draw aside, slyly re- 
marking their brother evidently Intends to grant this 
favour only If the fair lady accord another In re- 
turn. While they are thus commenting, King Ed- 
ward promises to consider Lady Grey's request, 
but when pressed to give an immediate answer in- 
quires how many children she has? On learning 
she has three, Edward Intimates It would be a great 
pity should they lose their Inheritance, a remark 
which encourages Lady Grey to renew her plea. 
Hearing this, Edward bespeaks a private interview, 
and the courtiers withdraw, while the two brothers. 



226 Henry VI 

still keeping up mocking comments, retire out of 
earshot. 

Left thus practically alone with the widow, King 
Edward questions how far her devotion for her chil- 
dren will carry her, and intimates that if she will 
only grant his request, their lands will be restored. 
Little suspecting his purpose, Lady Grey promises 
to do whatever he wishes; but when he makes 
lascivious desires known, she proudly rejoins it is 
impossible to purchase her children's rights by dis- 
grace. The brothers, watching every expression 
which passes over their two faces, conclude the King 
is not succeeding as he wishes, a conclusion con- 
firmed by Edward's aside, implying such fervent 
admiration of the lady, that should she not consent 
to his suit otherwise, he will make her his Queen. 
When Edward openly suggests marriage, however, 
Lady Grey considers he is jesting until he swears 
she shall be his honoured consort. Perceiving they 
have at last reached an amicable understanding, the 
two brothers again draw near, whereupon Edward 
informs them of what he has done, a decision which 
Gloucester opines will cause ten days' wonder, an 
amusement which Edward is willing to afford his 
people. 

Just then a nobleman announces Henry has been 
made prisoner, and is being brought to the palace 
gates. Hearing this, Edward orders his rival con- 
fined in the Tower, and entrusts Lady Grey to his 
brothers' care, bidding them *use her honourably.' 
All therefore leave the room save Richard, who, in 
a long soliloquy, sums up the situation, reveals his 
secret designs upon the crown, and declares that his 



Henry VI 227 

brother Edward, for the sake of gratifying present 
passions, has forfeited part of his influence. Al- 
though several lives still stand between himself 
and the fulfilment of his hopes, Richard neverthe- 
less looks forward to the time when the power will 
be in his hands, and boasts since he is too misshapen 
to inspire love, — like his brother, — he will reach 
his ends by other means. To hew his way to the 
English throne, he is willing to play the orator as 
well as Nestor, to deceive like Ulysses and Sinon, 
to change colour like the cameleon, and shapes like 
Proteus, and to send even 'the murderous Machiavel 
to school!' 

In the regal palace in France, Lewis XI. is giv- 
ing audience to Margaret, whom he invites to take 
place beside him under the dais. The Queen, how- 
ever, rejoins that although once Albion's Queen, her 
fortunes have so declined of late that the only seat 
now befitting her is the ground. When Lewis asks 
what occasions such despondency, Margaret declares 
she has cause enough to weep, and seating herself be- 
side him, prepares to impart to him her sorrows, 
which, he gravely promises, shall 'be eased, if France 
can yield relief.' Thus encouraged, Margaret re- 
veals how her husband is banished, — Edward of 
York having usurped his throne, — and how she has 
come hither, with her son, to beg aid to recover what 
they have lost. Although Lewis wishes time to 
consider what he shall do, he encourages Margaret 
by stating 'the more I stay, the more I'll succour 
thee'; still, the need of an immediate decision be- 
comes only too apparent when the door suddenly 
opens and Warwick is ushered in, — Warwick whom 



228 Henry VI 

Margaret bitterly terms the 'breeder of my sorrow!' 
Never having seen this nobleman before, it is 
only after his name has been uttered, that the King 
of France can w^elcome him with due state; mean- 
while Margaret rises and ostentatiously draws aside 
muttering, 'a second storm' begins to rise. Cour- 
teously approaching the French monarch, Warwick 
explains he is sent by Edward, King of England, 
to crave a league of amity, to be sealed by a mar- 
riage with Princess Bona. Hearing this, Margaret 
grumbles should such an alliance ever take place, 
Henry's last hopes will be gone ! 

Meanwhile, Warwick depicts to the Princess his 
master as deeply enamoured with her, for her beauty 
and virtue are graved deep in his heart. Before the 
King of France can reply. Queen Margaret vehe- 
mently urges him not to heed Edward's embassy, 
since he is not King of England, and his request 
springs not from Veil-meant honest love, but from 
deceit bred by necessity.' On his part, Warwick 
styles her 'injurious Margaret,' and when the 
Prince rebukes him for no longer addressing his 
mother as Queen, boldly declares Henry, his wife 
and son, usurped the rights which they flaunted for 
a while. 

Oxford, — who is attending Margaret, — now 
haughtily rejoins if such be the case, England dis- 
owns the glory she won through John of Gaunt, 
Henry IV., and Henry V., from whom his master 
directly descends. But in return Warwick taunt- 
ingly reminds Oxford how Henry VI. lost all his 
glorious ancestors won, and claims that even a pedi- 
gree of three score and two years is far too short 



Henry VI 229 

to substantiate such claims as he makes. Although 
Oxford haughtily reminds Warwick that he obeyed 
Henry thirty-six years, this nobleman invites him to 
recognise Edward as master, but Oxford hotly re- 
joins he will uphold the Lancasters as long as he 
lives, a defiance offset by Warwick's equally bold 
proclamation of loyalty to the Yorks. 

The French King now implores Queen Margaret, 
Edward, and Oxford, to withdraw for a while, and 
allow him to converse with Warwick; so they do 
so, the Queen murmuring she hopes Warwick's 
specious words will not bewitch the royal ear. 
Turning to the ambassador, Lewis now inquires 
whether he conscientiously considers Edward King, 
and seeing Warwick ready to stake his credit and 
his honour thereon, questions whether the people view 
the new ruler with gracious eyes? When informed 
the English are all the more ready to welcome Ed- 
ward because Henry proved unfortunate, Lewis 
queries whether the proposal for Bona's hand is dic- 
tated by affection, and hearing Warwick swear such 
is truly the case, begs his sister to decide. With 
due modesty, Bona leaves the matter entirely to 
her brother, although she graciously informs War- 
wick she has often heard Edward praised, and has 
been interested in his career. Hearing this. King 
Lewis announces the union shall take place, and 
articles be drawn up for a contract, which Queen 
Margaret can witness. At mention of a marriage 
contract, Prince Edward hopes it concerns him, but 
his mother, with keener perception, despairingly ex- 
claims Warwick's embassy has made void her suit, 
for previous to his arrival, Lewis seemed ready to be- 



230 Henry VI 

come Henry's friend. Hypocritically Lewis now 
claims he will, Indeed, remain Henry's friend, but 
that since this Prince Is not entitled to the crown, 
he cannot give him the promised aid. He adds that 
Warwick has assured him Henry Is well provided 
for In Scotland, and that he knows Margaret's 
father Is well able to maintain her and her son, 
excuses which infuriate the deposed Queen. In 
her wrath she reviles Warwick as a 'setter-up and 
puller-down of kings,' and predicts Lewis will have 
cause to rue this move. 

Just then a post horn Is heard without, and Lewis 
remarks some messenger is bringing tidings to him 
or to Warwick. A moment later the new-comer 
delivers letters to Warwick, to the King, and to 
Margaret, who, all three, become absorbed in their 
correspondence. Meantime, their countenances are 
closely watched by Oxford and the Prince, who 
thus hope to discover what all this means. The fact 
that the Queen smiles, Warwick frowns, and the 
French monarch stamps, sufficiently testifies that 
the missives contain matters of moment, and when 
Lewis grimly Inquires what his companions have 
heard, Margaret proclaims her heart filled with un- 
hoped-for joy, and Warwick his full of sorrow. 
This is because Edward announces his marriage to 
Lady Grey, and bids his ambassador smooth over the 
insult he has thereby offered to France. Tri- 
umphantly, Margaret proclaims this proves Edward's 
love and Warwick's honesty, whereupon this noble- 
man protests he Is so angry that his master should 
discredit him thus, that he renounces all allegiance 
to the House of York, and will henceforth do all in 




> 5 

> c 

I 



Henry VI 231 

his power to restore King Henry VI. Then, turn- 
ing, to Margaret, Warwick entreats her to 'let 
former grudges pass,' an offer she graciously ac- 
cepts, declaring she will 'forgive and quite forget 
old faults, and joy that thou becomest King Henry's 
friend!' 

Then, turning again to the French King, War- 
wick adds that if Lewis will only furnish forces, he 
will land them in England, where he boasts not 
even Edward and his new-made bride will be able 
to hold out against them. In hopes of revenge for 
the insult offered her, Bona urges her brother to 
grant this request, so Lewis, urged by Mar- 
garet, Bona and Warwick, finally pledges his 
aid. He also bids the messenger return and inform 
'false Edward, thy supposed King, that Lewis of 
France is sending over masquers to revel It with 
him and his new bride,' while Margaret, Bona, and 
Warwick also intrust to him messages of similar 
scornful import. 

Meantime, King Lewis Is zealously arranging 
to supply Warwick with five thousand men, 
promising further aid shall be shipped under the 
care of the Prince and Queen. As pledge of good 
faith, Warwick suggests his eldest daughter marry 
Prince Edward, an alliance Queen Margaret eagerly 
accepts, assuring her son the lady 'Is fair and vir- 
tuous,' and bidding him shake hands with War- 
wick to bind the bargain. Prince Edward having 
done so, Lewis gives the necessary orders for the 
English invasion, declaring he longs to hear Ed- 
ward has fallen. In punishment for proposing a 
*mockIng marriage with a dame of France.' 



232 Henry VI 

All now leave the hall save Warw^Ick, who muses 
over the sudden change in his fortunes, for, having 
come as Edv^^ard's ambassador, he leaves his sworn 
foe. This transformation is, however, due to the 
lack of consideration with which Edward has treated 
him. Indeed, the insult offered rankles so deeply 
in Warwick's heart, that he exclaims he is about to 
war, 'not that I pity Henry's misery, but seek re- 
venge on Edward's mockery.' 

Act IV. The fourth act opens in the London 
palace, where two of Edward's brothers are dis- 
cussing with other lords their brother's marriage with 
Lady Grey. They deem it a pity the ceremony 
should not have been postponed until Warwick's 
return from abroad, but conclude what is done can- 
not be undone, just as the King enters with his 
bride. When he asks Clarence how he likes his 
choice, the youth rejoins 'as well as Lewis of 
France or the Earl of Warwick,' an answer which 
so offends King Edward, that he haughtily asserts 
even if all take exception, he is King, and 'must have 
his will.' Then Edward inquires the opinion of 
Gloucester, who piously exclaims, 'God forbid that 
I should wish them sever'd whom God hath join'd 
together,' a remark which he means derisively. 

Truculently inviting those present to state why 
Lady Grey should not be his wife and England's 
Queen, Edward hears Clarence argue no alliance 
should have been concluded as long as one was 
pending with the French Princess ; Gloucester opine 
that Warwick has been disgraced; and the lords 
claim that a foreign marriage would have served 
to strengthen them. To all these objections Ed- 



Henry VI 233 

ward carelessly rejoins he can easily devise means 
to appease Lewis and Warwick, and that England's 
safety lies in his hands. His brothers, who are 
jealous of the favour he has shown his wife's kins- 
men, now pretend they are angry because he has not 
provided them with wives; still, when King Ed- 
ward proposes a match for Clarence, this youth 
haughtily expresses a desire to choose for himself. 

All this conversation takes place in the presence 
of the new Queen, who informs the gentlemen 
present she was not of ignoble descent, and states 
their dislike has clouded her 'joys with danger and 
with sorrow.' On hearing this, Edward, — who 
is still deeply enamoured, — begs her pay no heed 
to them, for he will love and protect her; and then 
vows that 'unless they seek for hatred at my hands,' 
all present shall show his Queen respect. Mutter- 
ing that he does not say much but thinks the more, 
Gloucester turns away, just as the post comes in, 
to deliver by word of mouth the truculent messages 
of the King of France, Bona, Warwick and Mar- 
garet. While Edward comments upon these mes- 
sages, Clarence, learning Prince Edward intends to 
marry Warwick's eldest daughter, murmurs he will 
espouse the younger. Then, turning to his brother 
Edward, he openly renounces allegiance to him, and 
proclaims his intention to join Warwick's forces. 
Having said this, Clarence marches out, closely fol- 
lowed by Som.erset, while Gloucester mutters he 
will not follow their example, although he stays not 
out of love for Edward but of the crown! Per- 
ceiving war imminent and unavoidable, Edward 
bids Pembroke and Stafford make ready, and turn- 



234 H'enry VI 

ing to Montague and Hastings inquires whether 
they will be true to him, or intend to join their 
kinsman ? Both of these gentlemen promise fidelity, 
as does Gloucester, pledges which afford keen satis- 
faction to Edward, who assures all three victory 
will be theirs, provided they lose no time in facing 
Warwick and his foreign host. 

The curtain next rises in Warwickshire, where 
Warwick has arrived with his French forces, and 
assures Oxford many of the common people have 
already joined Henry VI. 's standard. Just then 
Clarence and Somerset enter, proclaiming they have 
come to join Warwick's forces, too. In his delight, 
Warwick readily promises his daughter's hand to 
Clarence, and reveals a plot he has just made, by 
means of which they expect to surprise Edward in 
his camp. Instead of warning or defending this 
threatened brother, Clarence gladly joins the force 
planning to surprise him, after receiving the pass- 
word and all other necessary instructions. 

In Edward's camp at nightfall, three watchmen 
guard the royal tent, saying Edward has vowed not 
to lie down and rest 'till Warwick or himself be 
quite suppress'd.' For that reason Edward is sleep- 
ing in his chair, with Hastings beside him, and has 
detailed these men to mount guard. While they 
are still talking, the attacking party steals upon 
them and compels them to surrender. Then, in the 
midst of beating drums, Warwick, Somerset and their 
men bring out King Edward, bound to his chair, 
while Richard and Hastings are seen fleeing in the 
background. Pointing to their vanishing figures, 
Somerset inquires who they may be, and when War- 



Henry VI 235 

wick names them, concludes their escape is of little 
moment, since their brother, the Duke, has been se- 
cured. 

Hearing this, Edward hotly chides Warwick for 
not addressing him as King, whereupon this noble- 
man rejoins that after creating him Monarch, he 
recreates him Duke, because he has plainly shown 
he neither knows how to govern a realm, to use 
ambassadors properly, to study his people's welfare, 
to treat his brothers rightly, to be content with one 
wife, or to protect himself against his foes! Per- 
ceiving his brother Clarence in the enemy's ranks, 
Edward reproaches him also, while Warwick con- 
temptuously removes the crown from his head, de- 
claring it shall henceforth grace Henry VI. 's brow. 
He also decrees that Edward shall be entrusted to 
the custody of his brother, — Archbishop of York, — 
until further orders are issued by Lewis and Bona, 
who claim the right to dispose of him definitely. 
Notwithstanding his resistance, guards lead Edward 
off the stage, while Oxford and Warwick decide 
their next move shall be to march on to London, 
free King Henry from prison, and replace him on 
his throne. 

In the palace at London, Queen Elizabeth in- 
forms her brother Rivers, rumours have come of a 
battle in which her husband has been defeated, made 
prisoner, and committed to the guard of the Arch- 
bishop of York. Although Rivers exclaims such 
tidings are baleful indeed, he urges the Queen to 
bear her misfortunes with equanimity for the sake 
of her unborn child, — a sacred duty the Queen sadly 
acknowledges. She also proposes to take refuge in 



236 Henry VI 

sanctuary, for she has heard Warwick is on his way 
to London to replace King Henry on the throne, 
and fears what he may do to her. 

The next scene is played in a park in Yorkshire, 
where Gloucester, addressing Hastings and Stanley, 
informs them he has enticed them hither to aid him 
to free Edward. Because his brother is allowed to 
go out hunting, Richard proposes to kidnap him and 
bear him off to Burgundy, whence he can easily 
make arrangements to recover his throne. Pointing 
out to his companions that Edward is even now 
drawing near, Gloucester induces them to hide, just 
as the captive rides up with a huntsman, who vainly 
tries to beguile him in another direction. At a signal 
from Gloucester, his friends suddenly surround 
Edward, and the guard, unable to resist them, ac- 
companies them when they ride away on swift 
horses tethered in the vicinity. Their plan is to 
convey Edward to Lynn, whence he is to travel by 
ship as speedily as possible to Flanders. 

The curtain next rises on the Tower of London, 
just as King Henry, set free by Warwick and Clar- 
ence, thanks his keepers for the kindness shown him 
while in their custody. Recognising that Warwick 
has procured his freedom, and feeling no desire to 
resume the burdensome cares of royalty, Henry bids 
this nobleman assume the government, although 
Warwick modestly objects such a place would bet- 
ter befit his son-in-law Clarence. In duty bound 
Clarence demurs, whereupon the King settles this 
courteous contention by naming both gentlemen pro- 
tectors of the realm, declaring he means hereafter 
to lead a quiet life and 'in devotion spend my latter 



Henry VI 237 

days.' Because Clarence inquires what has been de- 
cided in regard to the succession, King Henry, — 
thus reminded of wife and son, — begs they be sent 
for without delay, vowing *joy of liberty is half 
eclipsed' as long as they are not beside him. 

After Clarence has promised the Queen and 
Prince shall be summoned with all speed. King 
Henry, addressing Somerset, questions who the youth 
beside him may be, of whom he seems to take such 
tender care? Drawing forward Henry, Earl of 
Richmond, Somerset presents him to the King, who, 
moved by a prophetic spirit, designates him as 'Eng- 
land's hope,' and lays his hand on his head, declaring 
'this pretty lad will prove our country's bliss. His 
looks are full of peaceful majesty, his head by nature 
framed to wear a crown, his hand to wield a sceptre, 
and himself likely in time to bless a regal throne.' 
Henry has just bidden the lords make much of the 
youth, when a post announces Edward VI.'s escape, 
a flight which enrages Warwick, who realises they 
will now have to 'provide a salve for any sore that 
may betide.' 

All having left the scene save Somerset, Richmond 
and Oxford, the former remarks he does not like 
the present turn of affairs, for Burgundy Is sure to 
help Edward. Besides, the prophesy just uttered by 
the King, has Inspired him with such fears for the 
safety of his young charge, that he determines to 
send Richmond to Brittany 'till storms be passed 
of civil enmity,' a decision Oxford fully approves. 

The curtain next rises before York, just as King 
Edward arrives there with his brother and Hastings, 
declaring he has brought forces from Burgundy to 



238 Henry VI 

recover possession of his estates. When Gloucester 
points out to him that York's gates are closed, Ed- 
ward rejoins they will have to enter by fair means 
or foul, and bids the town be summoned to sur- 
render. In answer to this call, the Mayor of York 
appears on the ramparts, declaring they have closed 
their gates because they recognise no master save 
Henry. By rejoining diplomatically that he is 
surely entitled to enter the city as its Duke, Edward 
manages to disarm all suspicions and induce them 
to admit him. While the Mayor is coming down 
from the ramparts, Gloucester intimates in a sly 
aside that 'when the fox hath once got in his nose, 
he'll soon find means to make the body follow.* 
Then the gates are flung open, and the keys de- 
livered to Edward, who becomes responsible for the 
town's safety. A moment later, Montgomery ar- 
rives with a large force for Edward, declaring he 
has raised it to help him recover his throne. Be- 
cause Edward temperately rejoins it suffices for the 
present to recover his duchy, Montgomery haughtily 
rejoins he came to serve a King and not a Duke, 
and refuses to stay. He is about to march off with 
his troops when Edward bids him wait as he wishes 
to consider the matter further. But, instead of con- 
sidering, Montgomery opines he should fight, so, 
thus urged, King Edward promises to follow the 
advice of his friends, and recover his realm. There- 
upon, the troops again proclaim him 'King of Eng~ 
land and France,' while Montgomery truculently 
challenges any who care to question his right to reign. 
While all present shout 'long live Edward IV.,' the 
monarch promises 'if fortune serve me, I'll requite 



Henry VI 239 

this kindness,' and decides that after spending this 
night in York, he will march on to meet Warwick 
and Clarence, for the defection of his brother still 
rankles deep in Edward's heart. 

The next scene is played in the palace at London, 
where King Henry enters attended by Warwick, 
Clarence and the court, and is told Edward has 
crossed the seas with foreign troops and is even now 
marching toward London, many people flocking to 
his standard on the way. Timorous Henry is of 
opinion men should immediately be levied to oppose 
his foe, and Clarence opines *a little fire is quickly 
trodden out; which being suffer'd, rivers cannot 
quench.' Hoping to dispel all misgiving, Warwick 
assures Henry there are still many loyal subjects 
in his country, and appoints different lords to muster 
friends for the royal cause. 

One and all bid farewell to the King, promising 
to do their best, and leave him alone on the stage 
with Exeter, from whom he inquires whether Ed- 
ward's forces will be able to resist those he will 
send out against them? When Exeter suggests Ed- 
ward may yet seduce the royal troops. King Henry 
refuses to believe it, declaring he has always been 
so mild and gentle people cannot love Edward best. 
While he is still talking, a commotion arises outside, 
and despairing cries of 'a Lancaster' suddenly rend 
the air. Before the listeners can ascertain what 
this means. King Edward bursts into the hall, closely 
followed by Gloucester, and imperiously bids his 
soldiers 'seize on the shame-faced Henry, bear him 
hence; and once again proclaim us King of Eng- 
land.' Then he orders Henry confined in the 



240 Henry VI 

Tower, allowed no communication with anyone, and 
after seeing him removed, proudly adds he will 
march straight on to Coventry, where 'peremptory 
Warwick now remains.' He feels sure *lf we use 
delay, cold biting winter mars our hoped-for hay/ 
an opinion warmly seconded by Gloucester, who 
escorts his brother off the stage. 

Act V. The fifth act opens in Coventry, just 
as Warwick Is trying to find out how far away his 
friends are still with subsidiary forces. A moment 
later, Sir John Somerville enters, from whom War- 
wick inquires about Clarence, just as trumpet calls 
reveal some army is near. Somerville is assuring 
Warwick this cannot be Clarence, when King Ed- 
ward, Gloucester and their forces file across the 
stage. Bidding his trumpeters summon the city to 
surrender. King Edward boldly advances, while 
Gloucester points out to him Warwick standing 
on the walls. Thus made aware of the proximity 
of the 'king-maker,' Edward haughtily bids him 
throw open the gates and kneel before him, but 
Warwick arrogantly rejoins that having set him up 
and plucked him down, he is determined he shall 
henceforth be naught save Duke of York. Although 
Gloucester reminds Warwick that he bestowed upon 
Edward the title of King, this lord Insists he now 
recognises no monarch save Henry. In reply Ed- 
ward rejoins Henry is now his prisoner, Gloucester 
adding the information that he Is fast In the Tower. 
But, although both brothers urge Warwick to sub- 
mit, the latter proudly Insists he would rather chop 
off his right hand with one blow, and fling it in 
Edward's face with the left, than submit to him 



Henry VI 241 

again. Hearing this, Edward threatens never to rest 
until he can hold up Warwick's head by the hair, 
and can write with his blood in the dust, the sen- 
tence 'wind-changing Warwick now can change no 
more.' 

Just then Oxford enters with a force, which War- 
wick greets with rapture, and while it marches into 
the city, Gloucester suggests they take advantage of 
the open gates to force their way in, too, although 
Edward deems it wiser to wait until their foe sallies 
forth to battle. A moment later, Montague and 
Somerset also join Warwick, hotly reviled by Glou- 
cester and King Edward, who are angry to see so 
many of their men join the foe. Then Clarence ap- 
pears, but, just as Warwick confidently expects him 
to join his forces like the rest, this young Prince 
pauses, and addressing his father-in-law, plucks the 
red rose out of his hat, dramatically exclaiming he 
cannot 'ruinate his father's house.' Then he 
proclaims himself Warwick's mortal foe, humbly 
begs his brother's pardon, and in spite of Gloucester's 
frown, is welcomed back into Edward's party. 

Turning to the baffled and angry Warwick, — 
who challenges him, — Edward accepts his offer to 
meet at Barnet and fight it out, and marches off the 
stage, closely followed by Warwick and his troops. 

The curtain next rises on the battle-field of Bar- 
net, where, in the midst of the melee. King Edward 
leads forth his prisoner Warwick, cruelly bidding 
him lie down and die, while he hurries off in quest 
of Montague, his other foe. The sorely wounded 
Warwick now moans for someone to tell him who 
is victor, adding his own career is nearly ended 



242 Henry VI 

since death is at hand. While he is soliloquising, 
Oxford and Somerset appear, still unwounded, vow- 
ing were he only as fit as they, the day could yet be 
retrieved, for the Queen has just arrived from 
France with reinforcements. Hearing they are 
about to join her, Warwick moans for his brother, 
until told Montague is dead. Since this beloved 
brother died nobly, Warwick exclaims 'sweet rest 
his soul!' and bids the lords save themselves, prom- 
ising to meet them in heaven. Seeing him sink back 
lifeless, Oxford and Somerset bear his body away 
with them, declaring they intend to join the Queen 
as soon as possible. 

In another part of the field, amid the flourish 
of trumpets. King Edward, with a brother on either 
side of him, receives the congratulations of the army 
on his victory. Still, in spite of this triumph, Ed- 
ward discerns a threatening cloud in the forces Mar- 
garet has raised in France, and which have just 
landed in England. But, although Clarence con- 
fidently assures him they will soon defeat this army 
also, Gloucester warns him Margaret has been 
joined by Somerset and Oxford, and Edward starts 
off for Tewkesbury, where another battle awaits 
him. 

We behold this field of combat, just as Queen 
Margaret energetically reminds her adherents 'wise 
men ne'er sit and wail their loss, but cheerly seek 
to redress their harms,' for the news of the defeat 
of Barnet has sorely despirited many of her fol- 
lowers. In a wonderful speech she assures them 
that although the mast is blown overboard, the cable 
broken, the anchor lost, and many sailors drowned, 



Henry VI 243 

the pilot is still aboard the ship of state, ready to 
steer past reefs and quicksands, by which allegorical 
terms she designates Edward and his cause. 
Her dauntless spirit inspires the Prince to proclaim 
that even if cowards heard such words they would 
fight bravely, and the lords, shamed by the courage 
a woman and a lad display, and carried away by 
enthusiasm, promise to do their best. Just then a 
messenger summons them to meet Edward, who is 
near at hand, and Margaret, delighted to think the 
issue imminent hastily makes final arrangements. 

A moment later King Edward marches on the 
scene, bidding his men bravely face yonder ^thorny 
wood,' and root it up ere night. Meanwhile, turn- 
ing to her men, Margaret exclaims that although 
she would gladly address them, tears choke her at 
the sight of the man who holds her husband a 
prisoner. All she can do, therefore. Is to urge her 
men to be valiant, and the curtain falls as the battle 
begins. 

When it rises again, Edward and his brothers 
have secured Margaret and her chief adherents, and 
we hear the King sternly order Oxford imprisoned 
and Somerset beheaded. They receive this sentence 
with undaunted courage, and Queen Margaret 
watching them led away, sorrowfully exclaims, 'So 
part we sadly in this troublous world, to meet with 
joy in sweet Jerusalem.' Meantime, King Ed- 
ward has turned to his men proclaiming a reward 
for finding young Edward. A moment later the 
Prince is brought upon the scene, and is roughly 
chidden by King Edward for having dared to 
bear arms against him. In reply, young Edward 



244 Henry VI 

haughtily bids his interlocutor remember he Is noth- 
ing but a subject, while his prisoner, as representa- 
tive of King Henry, is entitled to all respect. This 
spirited attitude wins his mother's approval and 
causes her to exclaim, 'Ah, that thy father had been 
so resolved!' while it draws from Gloucester a sar- 
castic rejoinder which the Prince resents. 

The quarrel thus kindled between Prince Edward 
and Gloucester becomes so bitter, that when the 
Prince boldly arraigns all the Yorkists, Edward, 
Gloucester and Clarence, stab him until he falls life- 
less at their feet. Seeing this, Margaret wildly im- 
plores them to kill her too, but when Gloucester 
raises his dagger to do so, Edward bids him pause 
as they have already done too much. Although 
Gloucester warns his brother Margaret will 'fill 
the world with words,' King Edward, seeing her 
swoon, urges them to use means for her recovery. 
Afraid lest mercy defeat their ultimate purpose, 
Gloucester whispers to Clarence he will depart im- 
mediately as pressing business calls him to London, 
and hurries off murmuring 'the Tower, the Tower.' 
Meanwhile, recovering her senses, Margaret bends 
over the corpse of her son, imploring him to speak, 
and then reviles his murderers, giving way to her 
sorrow until Edward orders her removed in spite 
of her struggles. In her grief, Margaret vainly be- 
seeches Clarence to slay her, and looks around for 
the cruel Gloucester, knowing he would not hesitate 
to commit such a deed of violence; but Gloucester 
has gone, and Margaret is forcibly led away by 
rough soldiers. 

It is only then that Edward Inquires what has be- 



Henry VI 245 

come of Gloucester, and hears from Clarence he has 
gone 'to make a bloody supper in the Tower.' 
Briefly commenting that Gloucester is 'sudden, if 
a thing comes in his head,' Edward prepares to 
follow him to London as speedily as possible, saying 
he hopes to learn on arriving that his Queen has 
given birth to a son. 

The next scene occurs in the Tower, as King 
Henry perceives Gloucester, who is surprised to 
find him absorbed in a book. After ordering the 
lieutenant to leave them alone, Gloucester addresses 
Henry, who comments that just as the reckless 
shepherd flees before the wolf, the lieutenant has 
left him, a harmless sheep, beneath the knife of the 
butcher. When Gloucester grimly rejoins that 
'suspicion always haunts the guilty mind,' Henry 
reminds him how 'the bird that hath been limed' 
mistrusts every bush. After a little more conversa- 
tion, wherein Gloucester admits he slew Henry's son 
for presumption, only to be told had he been killed 
when he presumed, he would never have lived to 
commit this murder, Henry adds that in such a case 
many woes would have been spared the world! 

These woes have all been brought about by Rich- 
ard's crimes, an enumeration of which so enrages 
him, that he stabs the speaker, because "he cannot 
silence him otherwise. Sinking to the ground, Henry 
implores God to forgive his sins and pardon his mur- 
derer, while Gloucester, eying his dripping dagger, 
wonders that 'the aspiring blood of Lancaster' 
should sink to the ground, and does not mount up- 
ward! Still, determined no spark of life shall re- 
main, he stabs Henry again, ere he indulges in a 



246 Henry VI 

soliloquy wherein he reveals that, utterly impervious 
to pity, love or fear, he has rightly been considered 
a monster from the moment of his birth. In this 
soliloquy he exhibits a mind fully as crooked as his 
body, and murmurs that now King Henry and the 
Prince are gone, there remain only Clarence and 
Edward to remove from his way. 

The next scene is played in the palace of London, 
where King Edward and the Queen enter, closely 
followed by their court, and by a nurse bearing the 
infant Prince. After taking his seat on his throne, 
Edward announces he has repurchased it with the 
blood of his enemies, who have been ruthlessly 
mowed down. In his triumph, he calls for his 
son, kisses the future Edward V., and assures him 
his father and uncles have endured sorrows and suf- 
fering of which he will reap the benefit. Although 
Gloucester mutters that harvest will soon be blasted, 
Edward evidently does not overhear this remark, for 
he bids both brothers love his wife and kiss their 
nephew. They do so, Gloucester confessing in an 
aside that his is indeed a Judas kiss. 

Then Clarence demands what the King intends 
to do with Margaret, whom her father has ransomed, 
and King Edward announces she is to be sent back 
to France, while he means to spend the rest of his 
time in 'stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows, 
such as befits the pleasure of the court.' In fact, he 
deems it now time to bid farewell to sour annoy, 
since 'here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.' 



RICHARD III 

Act I. The first act opens In London, where 
Richard, Duke of Gloucester, states in a soliloquy, 
the winter of discontent is over, and the sun of 
York shines upon a glorious summer. Sarcastically 
he comments upon the way his brother is spending 
his time as King, and grimly determines since he 
cannot rival him as a lady's man, to 'prove a vil- 
lain.' He has, therefore, plotted to make the King 
suspect Clarence, by calling his attention to a pre- 
diction 'that G. of Edward's heirs the murderer 
shall be.' While mentioning thus his brother, 
George, Duke of Clarence, Richard sees him enter, 
escorted by guards. In reply to his astonished ques- 
tion, Clarence bitterly rejoins he has been arrested, 
because his name begins with G., whereupon Rich- 
ard sagely avers these troubles are due to the 
machinations of the Queen and her relatives, whom 
he accuses also of arresting Hastings, Clarence has 
just expressed a conviction that no one is safe, when 
the guards announce they must lead him straight to 
the Tower, without allowing him to communicate 
with his brother. Thereupon Richard flippantly re- 
torts they two were merely discussing the virtues of 
their majesties and the charms of Mistress Shore, 
concerning whom jokes in bad taste are made, ere 
the brothers part, Richard promising to intercede in 
Clarence's behalf. 

When Clarence has gone, however, Richard 
grimly mutters he loves him so dearly he intends 
247 



248 Richard III 

soon to send him to heaven, and hails with apparent 
joy the entrance of Lord Hastings, just released from 
prison. After solicitously inquiring how he stood 
his incarceration, Richard adds Clarence will proba- 
bly fare equally well, since the same agency also 
caused his arrest. By asking if there is any news, 
Richard also learns the King is so ill his physicians 
seem alarmed about him. Bidding Hastings hasten 
to Edward — whither he will soon follow — Richard 
watches this interlocutor out of sight, before he 
declares that while he does not want Edward 
to live, he must not die until George's fate is settled. 
Richard therefore proposes, by means of *lies well 
steel'd with weighty arguments,' to hasten Clarence's 
execution, and plans, after Edward's death, to 
marry Warwick's youngest daughter, although he 
murdered her husband and father. Before the scene 
closes, he mysteriously hints at another 'secret close 
intent,' when these awful preliminaries have been 
duly settled. 

Through a street in London, winds the funeral 
procession of Henry VL, with his daughter-in-law 
Lady Anne as chief mourner. Bidding the bearers 
set down the bier, she laments the deaths which 
have desolated her heart, calling down curses upon 
those who caused them. Then, turning toward the 
bearers, she orders them to resume their burden and 
inter the King, just as Gloucester appears. In spite 
of Anne's curses, and her declaration she does not 
see why the bearers should fear a devil with power 
over mortal bodies but none over souls, he checks 
their advance. But, although he ingratiatingly ad- 
dresses her as 'sweet saint,' she continues to revile 



Richard III 249 

him as the instrument of Henry's death, pointing out 
in confirmation that the wounds bleed anew in his 
presence. 

When Gloucester, in return, appeals to her charity, 
she avers she has none for him, and answers all his 
wily remarks with vehement curses. But, when after 
a while he hints he may not have killed her kinsmen, 
she interrupts him by indignantly declaring Queen 
Margaret saw his sword in her lord's breast! 
Changing tactics, Gloucester now claims he was pro- 
voked to murder by the Queen's slanderous remarks, 
and piously adds that as the slain King was fitter 
for heaven than for earth, he did a meritorious deed 
in sending him thither. To compass his evil pur- 
pose, he next proceeds to woo this widow at her 
father-in-law's bier, by vowing the crimes he com- 
mitted could rightly be laid at her door, since they 
were done for the sake of her beauty. Rejoining 
if such is the case she will destroy it, Anne spits 
upon Richard when he protests love to her, and con- 
tinues to curse him. Still, his tongue is so smooth, 
that he gradually succeeds in calming her, and when 
she wails she lost a husband and father at his hands, 
he dramatically offers to atone for these sorrows 
with his life, and baring his breast, offers her his 
sword that she may stab him. Unable to use it, al- 
though he urges her to do so by confessing he killed 
both Henry and Edward, Richard disarms her wrath 
by claiming all he did was done for love of her. 
Then, after a while, he gives Anne a ring, which he 
sentimentally describes as encompassing her finger 
as her breast encloses his poor heart ! Finally he pre- 
vails upon Anne to let him take charge of the corpse 



250 Richard III 

and withdraw, granting him a later interview, 
wherein they will be able to continue this discus- 
sion. This whole scene is cleverly devised to show 
the fascination a snake exerts over a fluttering bird; 
but when Anne has gone, Richard's humble bearing 
suddenly drops like a mask, for he curtly bids the 
bearers remove the corpse and await his further 
orders. 

Left alone, he questions 'was ever woman in this 
humour woo'd? was ever woman in this humour 
won?' and states that although he intends to marry 
Anne 'with curses in her mouth, and tears in her 
eyes,' he is equally determined to get rid of her in 
short order. Then he chuckles he is evidently not 
such a monster as he has hitherto believed himself, 
since he has succeeded in captivating even his victim's 
widow, and discusses the advisability of turning into 
a fop. 

We return to the palace, where Queen Elizabeth, 
talking to Lords Rivers and Gray about the King's 
illness, declares it serious, indeed, although they as- 
sure her Edward will soon be well. They also re- 
mind her her son is there to comfort her when her 
husband is gone, whereupon she sighs the Prince is 
but a minor, and in the care of Gloucester, a 'man 
that loves not me, nor none of you.' Just then 
Lords Buckingham and Derby enter, and after ex- 
changing greetings with all present report the King 
much better and anxious to reconcile Gloucester to 
her and to her family. Elizabeth has barely de- 
clared it is unlikely such a reconciliation can ever be 
brought about, when Gloucester enters, proclaiming 
they wrong him by filling his brother's ears with 



Richard III 251 

lying reports, all because he cannot flatter and speak 
them fair! 

When Rivers hotly demands to whom he is ad- 
dressing such a reproach, Gloucester rejoins by ask- 
ing what harm he has ever done him or any of his 
faction, and why they trouble Edward while he is 
so ill? The Queen hoping to check the incipient 
quarrel, soothingly informs Gloucester the King 
wishes to reconcile them all; but when he betrays 
mistrust, she promptly answers him in kind. To 
justify himself, Richard finally accuses Elizabeth of 
having his brother George imprisoned, although she 
insists she had no part in his arrest or Hastings'. 
Nevertheless, Gloucester persists their lives are in 
danger, and accuses his sister-in-law of planning to 
marry again. Indignantly exclaiming she has borne 
his upbraiding too long, the Queen avers she would 
^rather be a country servant-maid than a great 
Queen, with this condition, to be thus taunted, 
scorn'd and baited at.' 

While Elizabeth is thus showing she has had 
small joy in being England's Queen, Margaret, 
widow of Henry VI., enters, and grimly retorts 
no joy is due to the usurper of her place! Al- 
though she denounces Gloucester, too, for having 
slain her husband and son, he protests he is ready 
to answer for his actions to the King, and pays no 
heed when she terms him a devil. Instead, he 
turns to Elizabeth, sadly protesting that although 
his brother Clarence forsook his father-in-law dur- 
ing the wars to join Edward, he is now in prison. 
Because Queen Margaret remarks, that whereas 
they were wrangling like pirates on her entrance, 



252 Richard III 

they now all seem ready to turn against her, Rich- 
ard claims this is no more than she deserves, since 
she fiendishly mocked his father with a paper crown, 
and wiped his tears with a handkerchief steeped in 
the blood of his son! 

Hearing all present, Elizabeth, Hastings, Rivers, 
Dorset and Buckingham, now unite in reviling 
her, Margaret elaborately curses them all, hoping 
Elizabeth may lose husband and son and out- 
live her glory like her wretched self. Then, in 
regard to the lords who stood by while her son 
was slain, she prays 'that none of you may live 
your natural age, but by some unlook'd accident cut 
off!' 

Because Gloucester attempts to silence Margaret 
she honours him with the direst curse of all, call- 
ing down upon his head every evil; but, before she 
concludes it with his name, he promptly substitutes 
her own, maliciously insisting she has cursed her- 
self. Such a trick amuses Elizabeth, who in re- 
turn is warned she is feeding a 'bottled spider,' in 
whose web she will ultimately be snared, and that 
when that time comes she will long for Margaret 
to help her curse 'that poisonous, bunch-back'd 
toad,' the choice epithet she coins for Gloucester. 

Although all present have attempted it in turn, 
it proves impossible to silence Queen Margaret's 
tide of invective. But, having warned Buckingham 
to beware of Gloucester, she leaves the stage, while 
Hastings ejaculates his hair rose on end at her 
curses! Gloucester, however, sentimentally admits 
Margaret has suffered great wrongs, and expresses 
hypocritical repentance for those he did her, while 



Richard III 253 

Elizabeth virtuously claims she never did any con- 
sciously. Still, Gloucester reminds her she reaps 
all the joys accruing from these wrongs, adding 
that Clarence is already being punished for his per- 
jury, and hoping God will pardon the rest, a 
truly Virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion,' 
from Rivers' point of view. 

As the chamberlain reports Edward IV. awaiting 
the Queen and nobles, all pass out save Gloucester, 
who gloats over the fact that he has set 'secret mis- 
chiefs' afoot, has stirred the King up against his 
brother, and expects soon to be avenged upon these 
foolish lords. 

Meantime, he intends to clothe his 'naked villany 
with old odd ends stolen out of holy writ ; and seem 
a saint,' when most he plays the devil. Because 
two murderers for whom he has sent, now join 
him, he secretly gives them a warrant, bidding 
them hasten to the Tower, and 'be sudden in the 
execution' of what they have to do, without al- 
lowing their hearts to be moved to pity. Grimly 
assuring him they have come to use their hands and 
not their feelings, the murderers depart to dispatch 
Clarence. 

In a Tower cell, Clarence is describing to the 
lieutenant on guard the fearful night he has spent, 
for he dreamt he was on shipboard, where, while 
talking to Gloucester, he fell overboard, only to 
experience all the horrors of drowning. Gifted 
with the clearness of vision said to aflFect people un- 
der such circumstances, Clarence describes all he 
saw at the bottom of the sea, as well as his frantic 
struggles to keep his head above water. His inter- 



254 Richard III 

locutor seems particularly impressed when he de- 
picts how, after life left him, he passed *the melan- 
choly flood, with that grim ferry-man which poets 
write of,' and was conscience-stricken to encounter 
his victims, Warwick and Edward. His descrip- 
tion fairly makes the lieutentant's blood run cold, 
although Clarence insists his crimes were all com- 
mitted for the sake of the brother who requites him 
so ill, and fervently prays they may not be visited 
upon his wife and children. As long as such visions 
haunt him, he so dreads remaining alone, that he 
begs his jailor linger beside him while he drops 
off asleep. While watching, the jailor moralises 
'Princes have but their titles for their glories,' and 
'often feel a world of restless cares,' just as the 
two murderers steal noiselessly in. By silently ex- 
hibiting the warrant they hold, they compel him to 
leave the room, and while he hastens away to 
notify the King, the murderers discuss whether to 
stab Clarence asleep? One of them, thinking of 
the judgment day, is suddenly assailed by such re- 
morse that he seems ready to relinquish the under- 
taking; but when his companion reminds him of 
the reward promised, he boldly asserts his conscience 
is 'in the Duke of Gloucester's purse.' 

He and his companion are just preparing to stun 
Clarence by a blow on the head, previous to drown- 
ing him in a malmsey butt in the next room, when 
he suddenly awakes calling for wine. Their ominous 
rejoinder that he will soon have plenty, so terrifies 
Clarence, that he tremulously inquires who sent 
them? Thereupon they roughly bid him prepare 
to die, stating they are the Instruments of the King's 



Richard III 255 

will. In despair, Clarence finally implores them 
to seek Gloucester, whereupon they reveal this 
Prince sent them, and again urge their victim to 
make his peace with God. Because Clarence con- 
tinues to plead for mercy, they abruptly bid him 
look behind him, and, taking advantage of this 
move, stab him. Then, after casting his corpse in 
the malmsey butt, one of them mutters that, like 
Pilate, he would fain wash his hands of this crime, 
while the other, — who has done all the work, — 
reviles his companion, vowing he will report how 
slack he has been. The repentant man, however, 
passes out of the Tower refusing to share in the 
reward which his companion coolly goes off to col- 
lect previous to his departure, for he realises 'this 
will out, and here I must not stay.' 

Act II. The second act opens in the palace, 
where Edward IV. rejoices because he has recon- 
ciled the inimical peers, and feels he can face his 
Redeemer since he leaves his friends at peace. After 
seeing Rivers and Hastings shake hands in his 
presence, he urges Queen Elizabeth, Dorset and 
Buckingham to drop all animosity, too. These 
reconciliations effected, Edward remarks Gloucester 
alone is wanting to make *a perfect period' of 
peace, just as that brother enters, jauntily bidding 
all present 'good morrow.' When the King joy- 
fully boasts he has done deeds of charity, Glouces- 
ter sanctimonously approves, and, anxious to be at 
peace with all men too, begs pardon of all present, 
sentimentally averring, ' 'tis death to me to be at 
enmity.' But when the Queen kindly suggests it 
might be well to include Clarence in the general 



256 Richard III 

pardon, Gloucester hotly reproaches her with levity, 
saying she must know the Duke is dead. On hear- 
ing this, all present exclaim, and the King cries 
out that the order was reversed. Gloucester, how- 
ever, duly informs him 'a winged Mercury', evi- 
dently bore his first, and 'a tardy cripple' his second 
message, seeing it arrived too late. 

It is now Derby appears, entreating that one of 
his servants, who has committed an accidental mur- 
der, may be pardoned. Sadly inquiring how the 
tongue which doomed a brother to death can be ex- 
pected to pardon a slave. King Edward sinks back 
overcome with grief, for he remembers how Clar- 
ence assisted him in obtaining his crown, and fears 
God's justice will visit this crime upon him and his. 
Such is his emotion, that, too ill to remain in public 
any longer, he begs to be taken back to his apart- 
ment; and, while the Queen leads Edward away, 
Gloucester slily inquires of the rest whether they 
noted how pale the guilty kindred of her Majesty 
became at mention of Clarence's death, thereby 
subtly accusing them of the murder. 

A little later the Duchess of York occupies the 
stage with Clarence's children, who, noting her 
tears, wonder whether their father can be dead? 
Not daring otherwise to impart the terrible news, the 
Duchess assures them the King will henceforth be 
their father, whereupon the boy blurts out his uncle 
Gloucester said the Queen caused his father's death, 
when he offered to replace his parent. Knowing 
what to think of Richard's hypocritical offers, the 
Duchess exclaims 'Oh, that deceit should steal 
such gentle shapes, and with a virtuous vizard 



Richard III 257 

hide foul guile!' a remark the boy fails to under- 
stand, and which is closely followed by the en- 
trance of Elizabeth, Rivers and Dorset. 

So disheveled and woe-begone is the Queen's ap- 
pearance that her mother-in-law demands what it 
means, only to hear Elizabeth gasp the King is 
dead, and wonder that the branches remain green 
when their root is withered. While Elizabeth bit- 
terly regrets her inability to follow her husband 
*to his new kingdom of perpetual rest,' the 
Duchess cries she, too, has cause to grieve, since Ed- 
ward was her son. Not only has she lost a hus- 
band, but 'two mirrors of his princely semblance 
are crack'd in pieces by malignant death,' and all 
that now remains to her is 'one false glass,' in the 
person of Richard! She reminds Elizabeth that 
she still possesses all her children, although death 
has deprived her of a husband, while Clarence's off- 
spring comment that their aunt shed no tears for 
their father. The recent losses all present have 
sustained, cause a general lament, the Duchess' wail 
proving longest and loudest because she has the most 
dead to weep for. Meantime, Dorset and Rivers 
try to comfort Elizabeth by reminding her her son 
should be sent for, and crowned Edward V. 

Just then Gloucester, Buckingham and other 
lords come in, the first obsequiously imploring the 
Queen to be comforted, and humbly craving his 
mother's blessing. She gives it with the significant 
addition, may God 'put meekness in thy mind, love, 
charity, obedience, and true duty,' whereupon 
Gloucester adds a ribald aside. Then because 
Buckingham remarks that although the late King is 



258 Richard III 

no more, they hope to reap 'the harvest of his 
son,' and reminds all present the young Prince 
should be brought to London to be crowned, all 
immediately volunteer to serve as his escort, until 
the new monarch bids fair to be attended by uncles 
on both father's and mother's side, for the two 
factions now seem friends. All the rest now de- 
parting, Buckingham approaches Gloucester, art- 
fully suggesting they go too, and devise on the way 
some means to separate 'the Queen's proud kindred 
from the King.' This suggestion is hailed with 
rapture by Gloucester, who flatteringly promises to 
be guided by Buckingham, as they depart to meet 
Edward V. 

In a London street, citizens discuss the late King's 
death and the coming of the new monarch, comment- 
ing on coronations already seen. After mention- 
ing how Henry VL was crowned in Paris, at nine 
months of age, one of the citizens adds that King 
had virtuous uncles to protect him, whereupon an- 
other protests that Edward V. has a wealth of uncles 
on both sides. This fact, however, may give rise to 
jealous contentions, one bystander intimates, while 
another avers that owing to 'a divine instinct men's 
minds mistrust ensuing dangers.' 

Meantime; in the palace, the Archbishop informs 
the Queen-mother the royal party spent the night 
at Stony Stratford, and will soon arrive in Lon- 
don. Both mother and grandmother seem anxious 
to see young Edward, and wonder whether he has 
grown much since they last beheld him; while his 
little brother, the Duke of York, waxes Indignant 
because told he is taller than Edward. When his 



Richard III 259 

grandmother wonderlngly queries why he resents 
such a proud fact, the child explains Uncle Glouces- 
ter assured him 'small herbs have grace, great weeds 
do grow apace.' But when the Duchess bitterly re- 
joins Richard himself does not exemplify this saying, 
the little fellow wishes he had known that sooner, 
and gives a sample of the wit he would have ex- 
pended in twitting Gloucester about that fact. 

Just as this conversation ends, a messenger an- 
nounces grievous news, and when the Queen breath- 
lessly inquires whether harm has befallen her son, 
rejoins it does not concern him, but the Lords 
Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan, who have been arrested 
by order of Gloucester and Buckingham, and de- 
spatched to Pomfret. This news terrifies Elizabeth, 
who, seeing herself suddenly deprived of the sup- 
port of her kindred, apprehends the downfall of her 
house, a dread her mother-in-law shares, for she 
does not trust her son Richard. In her terror, 
Queen Elizabeth bids her second son accompany her 
to sanctuary, whither the Duchess proposes to fol- 
low them, a move the Archbishop approves since he 
offers to escort them thither. 

Act III. The third act opens in a London 
street just as King Edward V. arrives, closely at- 
tended by the Dukes of Gloucester, Buckingham 
and others. Bending down to the little monarch, 
Gloucester courteously bids him welcome, Inquiring 
why he looks so melancholy on a festive occasion? 
Sadly rejoining he wants 'more uncles here to wel- 
come' him, Edward listens perplexed while Glou- 
cester, with feigned gentleness, explains that these 
men were dangerous, because their 'sugar'd words' 



26o Richard III 

concealed the 'poison of their hearts/ Then he calls 
the little King's attention to the fact that the Lord 
Mayor of London is coming to greet him. After 
duly welcoming this imposing official, Edward in- 
quires why his mother and brother have not yet 
come to meet him, and why Hastings does not re- 
turn with tidings of them? Just then this lord ap- 
pears alone, stating that Elizabeth and her son have 
taken sanctuary, although the little Prince was so 
eager to join his brother that his mother had to 
restrain him by force. Angrily remarking the 
Queen Is acting foolishly, Buckingham bids the 
Cardinal and Hastings fetch young York by force, 
adding, when the Cardinal exclaims sanctuary privi- 
leges cannot be infringed, that such privileges are 
extended only to criminals and do not concern in- 
nocent children. 

After the Cardinal and Hastings have gone to 
fetch his brother, the young King inquires where 
he is to lodge, and seems disappointed when Glou- 
cester informs him the Tower must be his present 
abode. Nevertheless, he inquires whether this build- 
ing was not erected by Julius Caesar, making such 
precocious remarks In regard to it, that Richard 
takes occasion to mutter, wise children 'never live 
long.' When Edward V. boasts, however, that 
should he live to be a man he will win back their 
ancient rights to France, his uncle further ominously 
adds, 'short summers lightly have a forwa4"d spring.* 

Just then Hastings and the Cardinal escort on 
the stage the little Duke of York, who greets his 
brother rapturously, and is duly welcomed by all the 
noblemen present. The meeting of the two little 



Richard III 261 

brothers proves very affectionate, but the younger 
Prince is soon so attracted by Gloucester's jeweled 
dagger, that he begs for it, offending his uncle sorely 
a moment later by his sharp, unchildlike remarks. 
On hearing whither they are bound, this lad, too, 
show^s a marked aversion to the Tower, whispering 
that his grandmother said his uncle Clarence was 
murdered there, and that he fears to encounter his 
ghost. But, when the young monarch stoutly avers 
he fears no uncles dead, Gloucester ostentatiously 
assuring him he need fear none living either, sends 
both Princes on to the Tower. 

Left alone, on the scene, Gloucester, Buckingham 
and Catesby comment upon little York's forward 
talk, and wonder whether Hastings can be bribed to 
share their views? Finally, it is suggested Catesby 
should sound Hastings and Stanley, breaking off 
negotiations should they betray unwillingness to 
further their plans, and merely inviting them in- 
stead to the Tower to arrange for the coronation. 
Meanwhile, Gloucester sends word by Catesby to 
the governor of Pomfret, to execute his prisoners on 
the morrow, jocosely concluding this grim mes- 
sage with a kiss for Mistress Shore. As Catesby 
goes out promising his friends shall hear from him 
ere they sleep, Buckingham wonders what shall be 
done with Hastings, in case he does not subscribe 
to their plans, to which question Gloucester briefly 
replies, 'chop off his head,' promising Buckingham 
this nobleman's estates, ere they go off to supper 
together. 

In the next scene, a messenger warns Hastings at 
early dawn that Stanley considers it unsafe to re- 



262 Richard III 

main in England, since he dreamt a boar attacked 
them, and has heard rumours of a double council. 
The boar is, of course, Richard, whom Stanley 
dares not designate more openly, although it is quite 
clear he advises his friend to flee with him north- 
ward, and thus 'shun the danger that his soul de- 
vines.' In spite of this warning, Hastings, sure 
that Catesby will warn him should danger arise, de- 
cides to visit Edward V. in the Tower on the mor- 
row. Barely has Stanley's messenger departed when 
Catesby enters, oracularly announcing the world 
'will never stand upright till Richard wear the gar- 
land of realm.' At first, Hastings does not under- 
stand this remark, but when its significance finally 
dawns upon him, he loyally avers his head will have 
to be cut off before the crown can be so foully mis- 
placed. Still, hearing next that the Queen's kin- 
dred, — his personal foes, — are to be executed, Hast- 
ings openly rejoices, remarking that twelve months 
hence they will laugh over this tragedy. In return 
Catesby meaningly informs him many others are 
marked for death, including some men 'who think 
themselves as safe as thou and I.' 

Before this conversation with Catesby ends, Stan- 
ley himself appears to renew his warning to Hast- 
ings, for the news of the separate councils greatly 
disquiets him. He, therefore, personally urges Hast- 
ings to flee with him, reminding him how little Ed- 
ward V.'s uncles suspected what awaited them when 
they rode forth to escort him to London. When 
Hastings gleefully inquires whether he has heard 
these lords are to be beheaded, Stanley rejoins he 
is not surprised, just as a messenger comes in, whose 




PRINCES IN TOWER 



Carl Piloty 



Richard III 263 

appearance drives both Stanley and Catesby away. 
To this messenger Hastings rashly confides his satis- 
faction over the execution of the Queen's kindred, 
and richly rewards him for the message he brings. 

This man having gone, a priest appears, to whom 
Hastings also joyously promises a donation next 
Sunday, just as Buckingham enters, jokingly re- 
marking that while his friends at Pomfret may stand 
in need of a priest's offices, Hastings surely has no 
'shriving work in hand.' Hearing Buckingham is 
on his way to the Tower, Hastings volunteers to 
accompany him thither, affirming he is due there for 
dinner, and never noticing his interlocutor's grim 
aside that he will be there for supper also, although 
he does not now suspect this fact. 

The curtain next rises on Pomfret castle, as the 
governor orders the prisoners brought forth to be 
executed. Rivers, Grey and Vaughan, addressing 
him in turn, claim they are dying 'for truth, for 
duty and for loyalty,' and predict that those who 
ordered this execution will live to rue it. Without 
heeding these threats, the governor bids the execu- 
tioner proceed, while each of the prisoners solemnly 
curses Pomfret Castle, and Grey acknowledges Mar- 
garet's curse has already fallen on their heads. 
Then all three pray their blood may not be visited 
on the young King, and having taken leave of each 
other until they 'meet in heaven,' are led away to 
the block. 

In the Tower of London a council has assembled 
to appoint a day for the coronation. After some 
discussion in regard to the Lord Protector's wishes, 
Hasting is about to decide the matter without con- 



264 Richard III 

suiting him, when Richard suddenly enters the room. 
After graciously greeting all present, Gloucester 
turns to the Archbishop of Ely, declaring he has 
seen such fine strawberries in his garden that he is 
anxious to taste them. Pleased with such conde- 
scension, the Archbishop hurries out to send for the 
berries, while Gloucester, drawing Buckingham 
aside, whispers that Catesby reports Hastings ve- 
hemently opposed to their plans. To consult on 
their next move, Buckingham and Gloucester with- 
draw, while the rest converse about unimportant 
matters until the Archbishop returns, announcing he 
has sent for the coveted fruit. All now comment 
upon Gloucester's particularly amiable mood, Hast- 
ings confidently asserting 'there's never a man In 
Christendom that can less hide his love or hate than 
he; for by his face straight shall you know his 
heart.' 

They are still discussing Gloucester's unwonted 
geniality, when he reenters with Buckingham, 
angrily demanding what punishment should be 
awarded to those who have practiced witchcraft 
upon him? When Hastings promptly rejoins such 
offenders deserve death, Gloucester suddenly ex- 
hibits an arm withered from birth, declaring It was 
brought to this state by the magic arts of Queen 
Elizabeth and Mistress Shore! Because Hastings 
ventures to say that if they have done this they 
deserve punishment, Gloucester hotly denounces 
him as a traitor, and orders him removed, vowing he 
will not dine until he sees his head ! All now leave 
the apartment. In terror, save the guards who pinion 
Hastings, while he exclaims, 'woe, woe for Eng- 



Richard III 265 

land,' bitterly regrets having scorned Stanley's 
warning, and especially having triumphed over foes 
he was to follow so soon. He, too, realises Mar- 
garet's curse has fallen upon him, and leaves the 
room grimly reminding his guards, 'they smile at 
me that shortly shall be dead.' 

In the Tower, Gloucester next asks Buckingham 
why he quakes and changes colour, at the mere men- 
tion of a crime? Stung by this taunt, Buckingham 
boasts he can counterfeit, too, and offers to play the 
tragedian whenever his friend wishes. Meantime, 
he wonders where Catesby may be, only to learn he 
has gone to fetch the Lord Mayor, with whom he 
now appears. 

No sooner has the Lord Mayor been ushered Into 
the Tower precincts, than Gloucester orders the 
draw-bridge raised and the walls manned, proceed- 
ings which sorely frighten this official. A moment 
later some guards lay Hastings' head at Gloucester's 
feet as that of a traitor. With consummate hypoc- 
risy, Gloucester now explains to the Mayor how 
dearly he loved Hastings and how he confided his 
secrets to him, only to fall victim of his and Mistress 
Shore's magic. He adds that Hastings also wove 
dark plots to murder the Mayor, news which amazes 
his interlocutor. Still, the accusations which Glou- 
cester piles up against Hastings, finally convince 
him so thoroughly of this nobleman's guilt, that the 
Mayor declares he richly deserved death. Hear- 
ing this, Gloucester bids him go forth and explain 
this point to the people, who might else feel inclined 
to censure him, and the credulous official bustles out 
to make the necessary proclamation. 



266 Richard III 

After he has gone, Gloucester directs Bucking- 
ham to follow him, and make use of the first op- 
portunity to intimate Edward's children are Illegiti- 
mate, and that the late King himself had little right 
to the throne. Still, as this latter point reflects 
upon his mother's honour, Richard wishes It touched 
upon very sparingly. Eager to play the orator and 
earn 'his golden fee,' Buckingham hastens out, 
promising in case he succeeds In convincing the 
people, to bring their representatives to Baynard 
Castle, where it Is arranged Gloucester will be 
found absorbed In pious exercises. Bidding him 
expect news ere long, Buckingham disappears, while 
Gloucester gives orders that sundry divines meet 
him In his retreat, muttering that, meanwhile, 
he proposes to dispose privately of Clarence's brats, 
and to prevent all access to the little Princes. 

In a London street, a public writer contemplates 
the paper he has just engrossed, wherein Hastings' 
crimes are duly set down, commenting that although 
this nobleman was not arrested when the task was 
entrusted to him, he is already dead ! The scrivener 
concludes, — although he Is not bold enough to de- 
nounce It, — that this Is 'a papable device,' and 
that 'all will come to nought, when such bad deal- 
ing must be seen In thought.' 

In Bayard Castle Gloucester eagerly asks Buck- 
ingham how the citizens received his hints In re- 
gard to the Illegitimacy of Edward IV. 's children 
and his lack of right to the English crown? After 
explaining how clearly he set It all forth, — calling 
attention to the fact how little Edward resembled 
his father, while Richard is the exact counterpart of 



Richard III 267 

the Duke, of York, — Buckingham declares that al- 
though he had stationed men to cheer, 'God save 
Richard, England's royal King,' at the end of his 
speech, less than ten voices finally took up the cry. 
Still, afraid to wait for greater concurrence, he avers 
he effusively thanked the people, declaring 'this gen- 
eral applause and cheerful shout argues your w^is- 
doms and your love to Richard.' Although angry 
because no greater enthusiasm was shown, Glouces- 
ter seems relieved to learn the Lord Mayor has come 
to tender him the crown. Cunningly advising him 
to arm himself with a prayer-book, appear only be- 
tween two clergymen, and 'play the maid's part' and 
refuse the crown, Buckingham now passes out, as- 
suring Richard he will act as people's advocate, and 
that provided Gloucester act his role well, their 
trick will be brought 'to a happy issue.' 

After Gloucester has vanished, Buckingham re- 
ceives the Lord Mayor and citizens, who are told 
by Catesby the Duke of Gloucester cannot see them 
for he is holding a day of prayer. Virtuously stat- 
ing the great should sacrifice their own inclinations 
for public good, Buckingham sends Catesby back to 
Richard, assuring the Lord Mayor, meantime, that 
Gloucester is a very different sort of man from Ed- 
ward, and that If England only had such a sov- 
ereign, all would be happy indeed. He ruefully 
adds, however, that there is little prospect Richard 
will accept the crown, thus causing the Mayor 
to express a most fervent hope he will not decline 
their proposals. 

Just then Catesby returns, and when Bucking- 
ham inquires what message he brings, rejoins that 



268 Richard III 

Gloucester mistrusts so great a concourse of citizens. 
Pretending to be offended by such doubts, Bucking- 
ham sends Catesby back a third time, remarking to 
the Mayor It Is hard indeed to draw a man from 
the sweet contemplation of religion. A moment 
later Gloucester appears above, — between two 
priests, — and Buckingham duly calls the Mayor's 
attention both to his company and to the prayer- 
book In his hand. Addressing the crowd below, 
Gloucester now declares his readiness to serve his 
friends, and when Buckingham accuses him of 
wronging the country by refusing to assume the 
crown, pretends to hesitate whether to depart In 
silence or to reprove him. Still, Richard temper- 
ately admits he can see the people love him, but 
adds that even were the crown his own, he would 
shrink from assuming the duties of royalty, as he 
does not feel worthy of so great an honour. When 
he carefully reminds the people there Is an heir to 
the English throne, Buckingham exclaims Edward 
V. has no real claim to the sceptre, and fervently 
urges 'good my lord, take to yourself this prof- 
fer'd benefit of dignity.' 

The Mayor, listening with credulous ears, also 
Implores Gloucester to yield, although the latter 
continues reluctant until Buckingham, In feigned 
anger, chides him for refusing to do his duty, and 
vows If he does not accept, they will place some one 
else on the throne, for they are determined his 
brother's son shall never reign over them! Buck- 
ingham Is just marching off the scene In apparent 
dudgeon after this ultimatum, when Catesby pre- 
vails upon Gloucester to call him back. When 



Richard HI 2S9 

Buckingham reappears, therefore, Richard piously 
exclaims since they are so determined to 'buckle 
fortune' on his back, he will patiently endure the 
load, hoping that having forced this unwelcome 
office upon him, they will ever hold him free from 
blame. The Mayor Is first to express satisfaction 
at this acceptance, and Buckingham to salute Rich- 
ard as King, an acclamation In which the citizens 
hastily join, ere they are told the new Monarch will 
be publicly crowned on the morrow. Then Rich- 
ard ostentatiously returns to his holy duties, having 
throughout this scene maintained the attitude of 
the ultra-pious man. 

Act IV. The fourth act opens before the 
Tower, where Queen Elizabeth, the Duchess of 
York, and Anne, — Duchess of Gloucester, — appear 
with other ladles. After exchanging greetings with 
the rest, Anne volunteers she has come hither to 
congratulate the young Princes, and all are about 
to step In when stopped by the lleutentant, from 
whom Elizabeth eagerly begs news of her sons. 
When told that although well, she cannot see them, 
— the King having forblden her admittance, — 
Elizabeth wonderlngly Inquires 'the King! why, 
who's that?' Then, the lieutenant confusedly 
states the order was given by the Lord Protector, 
whose arbitrary prohibition is hotly resented by 
mother, grandmother and aunt. The lieutenant has 
just vanished, reiterating he cannot admit them, 
when Lord Stanley joins the ladles, politely stating 
he will soon be able to greet the Duchess of York 
as mother of two Queens. Then, turning to Anne, 
he bids her accompany him immediately to West- 



270 Richard III 

minster Abbey, for she Is to be crowned there with 
Richard ! 

This first intimation that little Edward V.'s 
claims have been set aside, causes Queen Elizabeth 
to fall half swooning into the arms of her son Dor- 
set, whom she feebly implores to hurry away since 
she perceives her children are doomed to fall be- 
neath 'the thrall of Margaret's curse.' So perti- 
nent does this advice seem to Stanley, that he, too, 
urges the youth to depart, promising to forward by 
him letters to his son. 

Meanwhile, the Duchess of York wails she 
hatched a 'cockatrice,' and Anne, although re- 
luctant, prepares to accompany Stanley, sadly hoping 
she may die ere men can cry 'God save the Queen!' 
Urging her to obey lest she prejudice her interests, 
Elizabeth further assures her she does not envy her, 
and Anne leaves, wailing that even as she followed 
her father-in-law to the grave, Richard wooed and 
won her, although she never felt affection for him, 
and has never been able to sleep in peace at his side. 
Besides, she realises that Richard hates her, and 
means to get rid of her, and gently pities Eliza- 
beth, who in return compassionates her. Meantime, 
the aged Duchess of York urges Dorset to join 
Richmond, bids Anne obey Richard, and implores 
Elizabeth to return to sanctuary, adding that having 
lived eighty odd years in sorrow, her sole hope is 
now the grave ! Leaving the scene, Elizabeth gazes 
mournfully up at the Tower, — a rough cradle for 
her tender babes, — and fervently prays It will use 
them well. 

The newly-crowned Richard enters his London 



Richard III 271 

palace escorted by Buckingham, Catesby and others. 
Bidding the rest withdraw, Richard, addressing the 
obsequious Buckingham, states that as he has 
mounted the steps of the throne with his assistance, 
he intends to bestow upon him a fitting reward. 
Then, in a whisper, Richard III. adds he wishes 
first to put Buckingham's fidelity to the touch, and 
thus ascertain whether he is 'current gold indeed.' 
Invited to speak plainly, and so make his wishes 
clear, Richard avers that as long as Edward V. 
lives, he cannot reign in peace. Then, perceiving 
Buckingham does not understand this hint, Richard 
plainly states he wishes the 'bastards dead,' show- 
ing marked displeasure when Buckingham begs per- 
mission to withdraw, so as to think the matter over. 

Meantime, Catesby, watching the new monarch, 
concludes he is very angry since he bites his lips. 
After muttering that Buckingham has grown 
strangely circumspect, Richard summons his page, 
from whom he inquires whether he knows a man 
who could be bribed 'unto a close exploit of death?' 
When the page rejoins there is 'a discontented 
gentleman,' for whom gold would be as persuasive 
*as twenty orators,' Richard eagerly sends for this 
Tyrrel, grimly averring 'the deep-revolving witty 
Buckingham no more shall be the neighbour to my 
counsel.' 

Just then Stanley enters, reporting that Dorset 
has gone to join Richmond beyond the seas. These 
tidings seem not altogether unwelcome to Richard, 
who immediately bids Catesby spread the news that 
his wife Anne is likely soon to die. He adds, that 
he intends shortly to marry Clarence's daughter to 



272 Richard III 

some mean born gentleman, to imprison the foolish 
boy, and as soon as his wife is removed, to murder 
the young Princes and marry their sister, exclaim- 
ing *I am in so far in blood that sin will pluck 
on sin.' Just then the page ushers in the murderer 
Tyrrel, who presents himself as the King's 'most 
obedient subject,' and who, when asked whether he 
has sufficient resolution to kill one of his Majesty's 
friends, bluntly retorts he had rather kill two of 
his enemies. When Richard informs Tyrrel he has 
two such foes in the Princes in the Tower, the mur- 
derer promptly pledges himself to dispose of them 
both, provided he is given free access to their per- 
sons. Then, after a short whispered conference, 
Tyrrel leaves, Richard inquiring as he does so, 
whether he shall hear from him before he sleeps, 
and receiving an affirmative answer. 

A moment after Tyrrel has gone, Buckingham 
reenters, stating he has duly considered the King's 
proposal. To his surprise, however, Richard seems 
utterly indifferent, and will talk of nothing but 
Dorset's flight. But, when Buckingham reminds 
his new master that Hastings' estates were promised 
him, Richard suddenly turns a deaf ear and warns 
Stanley should his stepson correspond with the 
fugitives, he will be held answerable for such 
treason. Then Richard muses aloud that Henry 
VI. once prophesied that Richmond should be King, 
and wonders why he failed to add that Richard 
would kill him? Undeterred by a tacit refusal, 
Buckingham again pleads for his promised reward, 
only to hear Richard remark an Irish bard predicted 
he would not live long after seeing Richmond, — 



Richard III 273 

which he takes to mean a castle of that name. When 
Buckingham a third time emphatically claims Hast- 
ings' spoils, Richard petulantly informs him he is 
not in the giving vein to-day, and leaves the room, 
an act of discourtesy which so angers Buckingham 
that he mutters, 'made I him King for this?' 
Then, remembering Hastings' speedy end, he sud- 
denly decides to escape while his 'fearful head is 
on!' 

A moment later Tyrrel returns, declaring 'the 
tyrannous and bloody deed Is done,' and describing 
how the men hired to perform the crime, melted 
with tenderness and compassion when they related 
how they found the little Princes asleep in each 
others' arms, a book of prayer beside them on their 
pillow. Tyrrel adds that these wretches smothered 
'the most replenished sweet work of nature, that 
from the prime creation e'er she framed,' and stole 
away conscience-stricken, leaving him to notify King 
Richard his wishes have been fulfilled. Just then 
Richard joins Tyrrel, seems delighted to learn all is 
over, inquires whether he saw the children dead and 
buried, and bids him return after supper to receive 
his reward and describe 'the process of their death.' 

After Tyrrel has gone, Richard rejoices that 
Clarence's son is imprisoned, his daughter meanly 
married, Edward's boys dead, and Anne, his wife, 
dying. Knowing Richmond wishes to marry Prin- 
cess Elizabeth, Richard is determined to anticipate 
him, and plumes himself fatuously upon being a 
'jolly thriving wooer.' Just then Catesby appears 
unsummoned, to announce that Ely and Buckingham) 
have fled to join Richmond, defections which de- 



274 Richard III 

termine Richard to muster his forces immediately, 
since 'we must be brief when traitors brave the 
field.' 

When the curtain next rises, Queen Margaret is 
seen standing before the palace, saying she is about 
to depart for France, having witnessed the downfall 
of some of her adversaries, and still hoping the 
'consequence will prove as bitter, black, and tragi- 
cal' for the rest. Just then Elizabeth enters, wail- 
ing over the death of her 'unblown flowers,' a 
lament which fails to touch Margaret's heart. 
With Elizabeth comes the Duchess of York, who 
also mourns her many losses, until Margaret in- 
forms her she is merely paying for all that was 
taken from her! The three-fold lament of these 
women, — ^who sit down on the palace steps to bewail 
their losses, — proves heart-rending, since each enum- 
erates the sorrows brought to her by the fatal Wars 
of the Roses. Finally, Elizabeth admits Margaret 
prophesied rightly when she foretold the time would 
come when they would ask her aid to curse 'that 
bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad,' and 
all three unite in reviling Richard. Then Margaret 
expresses regret for the curses she uttered, and see- 
ing her rivals' sorrows fully equal hers, bids them 
a kindly farewell, assuring them their woes will ever 
haunt her. 

When she has gone, the Duchess of York and 
Elizabeth give way to their grief, lamenting until 
Richard enters in all the panoply of war. Seeing 
these women block his pathway, he demands what 
their presence means, and to silence the elaborate 
curses his mother and sister-in-law lavish upon him, 



Richard III 275 

bids the trumpets drown their voices. Still, even 
then, under cover of the noise, his mother reproaches 
him, declaring how patient she was with him dur- 
ing a fretful childhood, and although he refuses to 
listen to her, she avers she will pray against him, 
and leaves the scene exclaiming, 'bloody thou art, 
bloody will be thy end; shame serves thy life, and 
doth thy death attend.' 

Meantime, Richard has joined Queen Elizabeth, 
all of whose denunciations he meets with tender in- 
quiries for her daughter? Hearing him pronounce 
this Princess' name, the terrified Elizabeth wonders 
whether this child must die, too, and frantically 
vows she will tell any lie to save her. Only grad- 
ually can Richard make her understand he has no 
designs against her daughter's life, but wishes in- 
stead to marry her; and, in spite of her evident 
horror of the match, artfully tries to convince her 
she can recover all she has lost in this way. He 
promises, in case she brings about the marriage, to 
forgive Dorset and the other rebels, and thus grad- 
ually induces her to use her influence to persuade 
her daughter to listen to his suit. Throughout this 
dialogue, wherein Elizabeth shows great bitterness 
at first, Richard cleverly answers every objection, 
finally sending lover-like messages to the young Prin- 
cess, whom he intends to espouse soon as he has 
chastised Richmond. But, after Elizabeth has left 
him, still gazing at him in fascinated horror, he 
shows his contempt for her character by terming her 
a 'relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman !' 

While he is still standing there, Ratcliff and 
Catesby report that a powerful fleet is sailing 



276 Richard III 

toward the western coast, where Buckingham has 
mustered an army to welcome Richmond. Send- 
ing messengers in different directions to summon 
aid, Richard, in his excitement, hotly terms Catesby 
a 'dull, unmindful villain,' simply because he does 
not hurry to execute orders before they are put into 
words! 

While Richard is still in this whirl of emotion, 
Stanley enters reporting the news is only too true, 
and that Richmond, supported by Dorset, Buck- 
ingham and Ely, comes to claim the crown. In his 
indignation, Richard hotly demands whether the 
throne is empty, the sword unswayed, the King dead, 
or the empire unpossessed? Then after some con- 
versation with his friends, — whom he accuses of be- 
ing ready to join the foe, — he orders Stanley to 
depart, grimly w^arning him unless he remain faith- 
ful, his son, whom he retains as hostage, will be in 
dire peril. After Stanley's departure, successive 
messengers announce defections and uprisals, until 
Richard chastises the last, angrily declaring they are 
all owls who sing 'nothing but songs of death.' 
The only encouragement he receives arises from a 
lying rumor that Richmond's fleet has been de- 
stroyed by a tempest. Richard is about to leave to 
suppress the rebellion, when Catesby informs him 
Buckingham has been taken prisoner, and Richmond 
has landed; tidings which determine Richard to 
hasten away, exclaiming 'a royal battle might be 
won and lost' while they stand arguing. 

We are now transferred to Stanley's house, while 
he secretly confers with a friend, through whom he 
sends word to Richmond that he cannot join him 



Richard III 277 

without endangering the life of his son, now a host- 
age in Richard's hands. Nevertheless, Stanley 
plainly shows which way he is inclined, since he no- 
tifies Richmond that Elizabeth consents to give him 
her daughter in marriage, as is set forth in the let- 
ters he delivers. 

Act V. The fifth act opens near Salisbury, on 
the square where the sheriff leads Buckingham to 
execution. On learning he is not to see the King 
before perishing, Buckingham mournfully declares 
the murders he helped Richard commit are avenged, 
for he realises this is a just retribution of his crimes, 
and that he brought his fate down upon himself 
when he prayed destruction might visit him should 
he prove false to Edward and his children. He, too, 
recognises Margaret's curse has been fulfilled, and 
bids the executioners convey him *to the block of 
shame' ; saying, 'Wrong hath but wrong, and blame 
the due of blame.' 

We next behold the camp, where Richmond states 
his men have marched thus far without impediment, 
to dethrone 'the wretched, bloody, and usurping 
boar,' for it is thus he designates Richard III. All 
present feel so sure Richmond's cause is just, that 
they expect many of Richard's so-called friends to 
join their ranks. 

The next scene is played on Bosworth Field, in 
Richard's camp, just as he is giving orders to pitch 
his tent, and inquiring why his friends seem so de- 
pressed? When they attribute their dismay to cer- 
tain desertions, Richard jauntily informs them *we 
must have knocks,' and hearing the enemy's army 
is only one-third as large as his own, expresses great 



278 Richard III 

confidence in a coming victory, and warns all to be 
ready, since 'to-morrow is a busy day.' 

Just after King Richard has marched off with his 
forces, Richmond appears with his, declaring he has 
beheld in the sunset satisfactory omens of good for- 
tune for the morrow. After apportioning positions 
to his different followers, he inquires where Stan- 
ley's force is quartered, and seems surprised to learn 
it is nearly a mile away from Richard's. Then, 
after charging a messenger to bear a letter to Stan- 
ley, — a charge this gentleman Is ready to perform 
at the risk of his life, — Richmond Invites the rest 
of his officers into his tent, to confer about the 
morrow's business. 

The Interior of Richard's tent is next revealed, 
just as he inquires the time, begs for ink and paper, 
and wonders whether the necessary alterations have 
been made in his armor? Besides, he warns his 
gentlemen to 'stir with the lark to-morrow,' and 
after they have retired, directs Catesby to charge 
Stanley to join him before sunrise, 'lest his son 
George fall Into the blind cave of eternal night.* 
Catesby having gone, too, Richard orders a steed 
for the morrow, and Inquires about sundry follow- 
ers, ere calling for wine, wondering because he has 
not 'that alacrity of spirit, nor cheer of mind' that 
he was wont to have. 

Meanwhile, Richmond, too. Is making final ar- 
rangements, and inquires of his step-father Stanley 
news of his mother, who sends him her blessing and 
prays for his success, as well as for that of his 
young step-brother, who Is to fight beneath his orders 
for the first time. Bidding his step-father watch 



Richard III 279 

over the youth, whose regiment Is stationed a short 
distance from his own, Richmond prepares to sleep, 
Itst leaden slumher peise me down to-morrow, 
when I should mount with wings of victory.' 
Then, having dismissed his men, and breathed a 
fervent prayer, commending 'his watchful soul' to 
God, he falls asleep. 

While he and Richard are both wrapped in slum- 
ber on either side of the battle-field, ghosts appear 
in the space between the two tents, and alternately 
address the two sleepers. Thus, we first behold 
the spectre of Prince Edward, — son of Henry 
VI., — accusing Richard of slaying him, and bidding 
him 'despair and die,' ere he turns to Richmond, 
charging him to 'live and flourish.' The spirit 
of Clarence next denounces Richard and encourages 
Richmond, and Is followed by the shades of Rivers, 
Grey, Vaughan and Hastings, all of whom predict 
woe to Richard and success to Richmond. Then 
come the slender wraiths of two little princes, bid- 
ding Richard die, and Richmond live to 'beget a 
happy race of kings,' ere Lady Anne glides in, sigh- 
ing she never knew quiet as Richard's wife, and 
wishes all success to his adversary. Last of all ap- 
pears Buckingham, — Richard's most recent victim, — 
bidding him dream of bloody deeds and death, but 
charging his opponent not to be dismayed, since 
'God and good angels fight on Richmond's side; 
and Richard falls In height of all his pride.' 

As this last ghost vanishes, Richard rouses from 
his restless slumber, thinking he has been in the 
fray and is sorely wounded. On discovering It is 
midnight, that he Is in his tent, and that cold drops 



28o Richard III 

stand out all over his body, he confesses, 'my con- 
science hath a thousand several tongues, and every 
tongue brings in a several tale, and every tale con- 
demns me for a villain.' Nevertheless, although 
he hates himself for hateful deeds committed, he 
clings to life, and is determined to defend it to the 
utmost. While he is meditating on these visions, a 
servant announces the cock has crowed, and it is 
time to buckle on his armor. To this man Richard 
confides his awful dream, wondering whether his 
friends will prove true? When the man avers he 
need not fear shadows, Richard ruefully admits 
'shadows to-night have struck more terror to the soul 
of Richard than can the substance of ten thousand 
soldiers armed in proof, and led by shallow Rich- 
mond.* Then, he decides to prowl around the tents 
and play eaves-dropper so as to ascertain whether 
any of his adherents are likely to desert him. 

Meantime, the lords rouse Richmond, only to 
hear him declare he has enjoyed 'the sweetest sleep, 
and fairest-boding dreams that ever enter'd in a 
drowsy head,' adding he was visited by Richard's vic- 
tims who all promised him victory. On hearing it 
is time to arm, he eloquently addresses his soldiers, 
urging them to fight for the right, and use his name 
as their battle cry. 

A moment after he has gone, Richard appears, re- 
marking to his attendants that Richmond is an un- 
trained soldier, and wondering that the sun has not 
yet risen. Although Richard fears 'the sky doth 
frown and lour upon our army,' he is comforted by 
the thought it is equally menacing to his foe. Just 
then, Norfolk joins him, urging him to arm as the 



Richard III 281 

enemy is already in the field, so Richard gives his 
last directions for the battle. After he has done so, 
Norfolk exhibits a paper he found pinned on his tent 
with a mysterious warning, 'Jockey of Norfolk, be 
not too bold, for Dickon thy master is bought and 
sold.' This rude rhyme seems a device on the part 
of the enemy to frighten Richard, who pays little 
heed to it, and stepping forward addresses his men, 
claiming his adversary should be promptly driven out 
of England since his intentions are evil. In the 
midst of this address, drums sound, and at its close 
a messenger reports the elder Stanley refuses obe- 
dience. In hot anger, Richard is about to order 
young Stanley beheaded, when those around him re- 
mind him it behooves them to meet the advancing 
foe, and that it will be well to postpone revenge 
until later. 

In another part of the battle-field, fighting forces 
hurry to and fro, until Catesby is heard imploring 
Norfolk to hasten to their rescue, for although the 
King has done wonders, his horse has been slain and 
he is now fighting on foot. Unless Norfolk succor 
him the day will be lost. Just then Richard rushes 
on the stage, frantically calling, *a horse! a horse! 
my kingdom for a horse!' When Catesby tries 
to entice him away, he declares he has set his life 
upon a cast, and 'will stand the hazard of the die,* 
adding that five times already he fancied he had 
slain his rival ! He hurries off the scene still vainly 
clamouring for a steed. 

In another part of the field, Richmond finally ex- 
claims victory is his, and receives the congratulations 
of Stanley, who brings him the crown, plucked 



282 Richard III 

from Richard's corpse, and still stained with his 
blood ! After returning thanks for his victory, Rich- 
mond eagerly inquires which lords have perished in 
the fray ? Then, giving precise orders for the burial 
of the dead, he offers pardon to 'the soldiers fled 
that in submission will return to us,' adding that 
after taking the sacrament, he proposes to be wedded 
to Elizabeth of York, thus uniting the 'white rose 
and the red.' He piously hopes heaven will smile 
upon this fair conjunction, so that their houses may 
'enrich the time to come, with smooth-faced peace, 
with smiling plenty and fair prosperous days!' 
Finally he leaves the stage proclaiming, 'civil wounds 
are stopp'd, peace lives again: that she may long 
live here, God say, amen!' 



HENRY VIII 

In the prologue the actor plainly states he has not 
come to make the audience laugh, but to show how 
'mightiness meets misery,' adding that if spectators 
succeed in indulging in merriment under such cir- 
cumstances, he is willing to concede 'a man may weep 
upon his wedding day.' 

Act I. The first act opens in the antechamber of 
the palace at London, where sundry noblemen meet 
and exchange greetings. When Buckingham asks 
Norfolk how he has thriven since they last 
met in France, the latter responds by describing the 
famous interview of the Field of the Cloth of Gold, 
which Buckingham missed, owing to illness. Nor- 
folk vividly pictures for his benefit this wonderful 
pageant, the monarchs meeting and saluting on 
horseback, the tender embraces exchanged, and ex- 
patiates on the display of wealth made by both 
suites. When Buckingham inquires who arranged 
this august meeting, Norfolk attributes all the glory 
of it to Wolsey, whom his companion evidently does 
not like, since he testily exclaims, *no man's pie is 
freed from his ambitious finger.' 

Because Buckingham expresses great wonder 
that Wolsey should take part in such a pageant, 
Norfolk explains that the minister did so to main- 
tain his influence over the vain King, whose ad- 
viser he is. Buckingham's son-in-law, — ^who has 
come with him, — now joins in the conversation, stat- 
ing Norfolk's description of the lavish expenditure 
283 



284 Henry VIII 

made at the Field of the Cloth of Gold interview is 
only too true, for a number of his kinsmen mortgaged 
their estates to appear there with credit. All this 
expense, however, has not had the desired result, 
since the peace with France has already been broken 
by the seizure of goods at Bordeaux. When Buck- 
ingham further insists upon knowing why Wolsey 
has acted so strangely, Norfolk asserts it was purely 
out of spite. 

Just then Cardinal Wolsey passes through the 
room, attended by guards and secretaries as usual, 
and his purse solemnly borne before him. While 
striding through the antechamber, he turns a bale- 
ful glance upon Buckingham, who returns it with 
disdain. Then, turning to his secretary, Wolsey 
demands the paper supplied by Buckingham's sur- 
veyor, intimating he intends to interview this man, 
and thus discover means to 'lessen this big look,' 
which he resents. Wolsey having gone, Bucking- 
ham angrily wishes he could muzzle the 'butcher's 
cur' who has gone to the King to complain of him, 
and truculently proposes to follow him into the 
royal presence, and there 'outstare him.' Although 
Norfolk warns him this is a risky performance, 
Buckingham refuses to heed him, even when advised 
to restrain his anger, lest he singe himself in the 
furnace he is heating for his foe. 

Almost beside himself with rage, Buckingham in- 
sists he has proof that Wolsey is intriguing with the 
King's foes, and swears he will 'unmask this holy 
fox or wolf,' who is as ravenous as he is subtle. 
Not only does he again accuse Wolsey of trying 
to show his importance at the Field of the Cloth of 



Henry VIII 285 

Gold, but declares he plotted in another interview 
to break off with France and conclude an alliance 
with Charles V. He is further convinced the em- 
peror and Wolsey have made secret arrangements, 
and thinks the King should be warned that the Car- 
dinal is considering mainly his own advantage. 

While Buckingham is still talking thus, the Sar- 
geant-at-arms enters and suddenly arrests him on 
the charge of high treason. Turning to Norfolk, 
this lord tragically exclaims, 'the net has fall'n upon 
me! I shall perish under device and practice,' 
while the officer expresses regret at having to pro- 
ceed against him, yet adds he must immediately 
convey him to the Tower. Knowing it vain to 
plead innocence, Buckingham resignedly exclaims 
'the will of heaven be done in this and all things,* 
and is about to bid his son-in-law farewell, when 
the officer states this gentleman, too, is to be led to 
the Tower, and detained there until his majesty de- 
cides what will be done with him. After repeating 
his father-in-law's pious phrase, Abergavenny yields, 
while the officer reads aloud warrants to arrest the 
Duke's confessor, his chancellor and a monk. It 
is thus Buckingham discovers his surveyor has been 
bribed by Wolsey to denounce him, and he leaves 
the antechamber despairingly crying, 'my life is 
spann'd already,' for he realises he can never free 
himself from this stigma. 

The curtain next rises on the council chamber, 
just as the King comes in, leaning confidentially on 
Wolsey's shoulder. While the cardinal humbly 
seats himself at his Majesty's feet, Henry expresses 
his gratitude for all his prime minister has done, 



286 Henry Fill 

averring had he not discovered Buckingham's con- 
spiracy, the realm would have been exposed to great 
dangers. Next he orders that lord's surveyor 
brought before him, because he w^ishes to hear him 
confess 'point by point the treason of his master.' 

Before this order can be executed, some commo- 
tion occurs, and after sundry loud calls of *room for 
the Queen,' Katharine sweeps in with her train. 
Coming forward, she gracefully kneels at Henry's 
feet, whereupon he graciously raises her to a seat 
beside him. When she objects that having come as 
suitor, it behooves her to kneel, he gallantly rejoins 
she already owns half his power, and that the other 
half is at her disposal even before she asks. Thus 
invited to make her wishes known, Queen Katharine 
explains a number of his Majesty's subjects have im- 
plored her to intercede in their behalf against the 
Cardinal, whom they accuse of grievous exactions. 
This statement becomes more intelligible when Nor- 
folk sets forth that the complainants are clothiers 
and other artisans, out of work owing to the ex- 
cessive taxes. As even then the need of protest does 
not seem quite clear, the King asks an explanation 
from Wolsey, who claims he is not aware of any 
shortcomings. Hearing this, Katharine indignantly 
rejoins the objectionable exactions are of his devis- 
ing, and that much of his great wealth is derived 
from such sources, for he is levying a sixth part of 
each man's substance under pretext money is re- 
quired for war against France. When Katharine 
further insists upon her husband's investigating this 
matter, Wolsey, perceiving the impression she has 
produced, defends himself in an able speech, humbly 



Henry Fill 287 

declaring that although 'traduced by ignorant 
tongues' he will have to be resigned. Indignant 
that a sixth of his subjects' wealth should be ex- 
acted In his name, the King vehemently refuses to 
countenance such an exhorbitant tax, and orders It 
immediately repealed. So, turning to his secretary, 
Wolsey blandly bids him write to the different shires 
that his gracious Majesty remits part of the taxes, 
and suggests In a whisper that it be rumored abroad 
it was through the minister's 'intercession this re- 
vokement and pardon' was obtained. 

As this secretary passes out, Buckingham's sur- 
veyor is ushered in, and the Queen, turning to her 
husband, expresses kindly regret that the Duke 
should have Incurred his displeasure. In reply 
Henry states his former favourite, — to whom he 
had always listened w^ith pleasure, — has suddenly be- 
come 'as black as if besmear'd In hell,' and Invites 
his consort to sit beside him and hear the surveyor's 
report. When summoned to speak, this man testi- 
fies Buckingham frequently stated should the King 
die without male Issue, he would himself as- 
sume the sceptre and wreak his revenge upon the 
Cardinal. Because Wolsey pointedly calls the 
King's attention to this threat, the Queen coldly re- 
minds him churchmen should speak for charitable 
purposes only, while the King, turning to the sur- 
veyor. Inquires how Buckingham based his claim to 
the crown? He then learns it was on the strength 
of a prophesy made by his confessor, for the sur- 
veyor circumstantially describes how the Duke, be- 
fore the King's journey to France, visited a monk, 
who predicted 'neither the King nor's heirs shall 



288 Henry VIII 

prosper,' and that Buckingham should ultimately 
govern England. 

Queen Katharine, who has been listening Intently, 
now recognises In the surveyor a man who lost his 
position at the complaint of some of the Duke's 
tenants, so she shrewdly suggests he may be actu- 
ated by hopes of revenge. The King, however, 
seems so eager to hear more, that the surveyor goes 
on to repeat an Imaginary conversation, wherein 
Buckingham claimed had the King died during his 
recent Illness, the heads of Wolsey and Sir Thomas 
Lovell would have been promptly removed. Such 
presumption so enrages Henry, that after listening 
to a few more accusations, he hotly pronounces 
Buckingham a 'giant traitor,' while Wolsey in- 
quires of the Queen how It would be possible for 
her husband to live In freedom as long as such a 
man was out. of prison? Only half convinced by 
what she has heard, Katharine prays 'God mend 
all,' while Henry, — seeing the surveyor has further 
statements to make, — eagerly bids him continue, 
only to learn how the Duke swore in case he were 
'evil used' to have his revenge. Furiously exclaim- 
ing 'there's his period,' Henry now orders Bucking- 
ham attached and tried, declaring should the law 
show him mercy, it will be well, but grimly adding 
that should it condemn him, the traitor need not 
apply to his sovereign for pardon. 

The curtain next rises on an antechamber in the 
palace, where the lord chamberlain and Lord Sands 
discuss the new fashions, until joined by Lovell of 
whom they Inquire the news. The newcomer then 
describes the changes the recent journey to France 



Henry VIII 289 

has effected, and while talking about fashions, states 
he has been invited to supper at the Cardinal's, 
whither the others propose to accompany him in 
hopes of meeting people of importance, including the 
latest beauty. All three sally forth, therefore, in 
quest of a barge to convey them to York Place, 
where they hope to have a fine time, as well as 
dispatch sundry matters of business. 

In Wolsey's palace, a state table is decked for 
him and his chief guests, another one, lower down, 
being destined for less important persons. Music 
heralds the entrance of a number of ladies and 
gentlemen, among whom we soon descry Anne Bui- 
len. Sir Henry Guilford, master of ceremonies, 
greets all who arrive, saying the Cardinal wishes them 
to be merry as *good company, good wine, and good 
welcome, can make good people.' His speech is 
scarcely finished when the three courtiers enter, with 
whom the master of ceremonies exchanges compli- 
mentary remarks. He then arranges that ladies and 
gentlemen shall sit alternately, and while some of 
the courtiers address gallant speeches to the fair 
guests beside them, the chamberlain and Sands hasten 
to secure seats on either side of Anne BuUen. It 
is just after the former has audaciously kissed this 
lady, that Cardinal Wolsey enters, and after wel- 
coming his guests pledges them cordially. This 
toast is answered by Sands, whom Wolsey invites 
to cheer his neighbours, declaring the gentlemen pres- 
ent will be held responsible for the ladies' amuse- 
ment. 

While healths are drunk, a noise of drums and 
trumpets, accompanied by a discharge of cannon, 



290 Henry VIII 

causes Wolsey to send a servant out to inquire what 
it means? This man soon reports that strangers — 
ambassadors from a foreign prince — have just landed 
at the palace. After bidding the chamberlain w^el- 
come the newcomers, Wolsey orders the tables re- 
moved, informing his guests that they will entertain 
the noble company by a dance. The strangers 
prove to be the King and his courtiers, masquerading 
as shepherds, and while they file past the Cardinal, 
the chamberlain explains they cannot speak English, 
but have come here to do homage to beauty, know- 
ing this assembly boasts the fairest women in the 
realm. Entering into the spirit of the masquerade, 
Wolsey bids his chamberlain welcome the strangers 
in their own language, and inform them he will be 
honoured if they will share in the festivities. There- 
upon, each masquer invites a lady to dance, the King 
selecting Anne Bullen, to whom he amourously 
whispers hers is the fairest hand he ever touched, 
and that he never knew beauty till now! While 
they are dancing, Wolsey tells the chamberlain that 
should there be among the dancers one more 
worthy to occupy the place of honour than him- 
self, he will gladly surrender it. 

After whispering with the masquers, the chamber- 
lain discovers a personage is really among them, 
and, called to pick him out from the rest, Wolsey 
unerringly designates Henry VIII., who, remov- 
ing his mask, sententiously declares the Cardinal has 
a sharp eye, and is holding a fair assembly. In re- 
turn for this compliment, Wolsey rejoices to see 
the King so pleasant. Meanwhile Henry beseeches 
the chamberlain to tell him the name of his recent 



Henry VIII 291 

partner, and thus learns he has been dancing with 
Anne Bullen, one of the Queen's attendants. Not 
only does Henry again reiterate 'she is a dainty 
one,' but, adding it would be unmannerly to take 
her out and not kiss her, he gallantly proceeds to do 
so. Then he calls for a health, which is noisily 
drunk, before Wolsey invites His Majesty and his 
fair partner into an adjoining chamber, where a 
special banquet has been prepared for their delecta- 
tion. Henry therefore passes out with the Cardinal 
and Anne Bullen, vowing he is so thirsty he has a 
half dozen healths to drink. 

Act. H. The second act opens in a street near 
Westminster, where two gentlemen stop to converse, 
the first revealing he is on his way to the hall to 
learn what is to become of the Duke of Bucking- 
ham, while the other assures him this matter is 
already settled and the Duke condemned to death. 
Because his companion begs for particulars, this in- 
terlocutor relates so many accusations were brought 
against the Duke by his surveyor, that he had no 
chance of escaping condemnation. He adds that the 
Duke behaved with great dignity and noble patience 
and showed no fear of death. Both gentlemen 
conclude 'the Cardinal is the end of this,' and that 
he manoeuvred to send the Duke's son to Ireland 
and keep him there so he could not interfere in his 
father's trial. They further shrewdly foresee he 
will be kept occupied away from court a long while, 
for Wolsey 's plan consists in getting rid of all who 
seem to win royal favour. 

While they are talking, Buckingham draws near 
under military escort, and the gentlemen watch him 



292 Henry VIII 

pass. Addressing the spectators, Buckingham de- 
clares that although adjudged a traitor, his conscience 
is quite clear, and bespeaks their prayers since he 
must die. Touched by this speech, his keeper Sir 
Thomas Lovell begs his forgiveness should he cher- 
ish any grudge against him, and Buckingham not 
only generously assures him of his pardon, but sends 
his blessing to the King. Then Lovell announces 
he must escort Buckingham dov^n to the vi^ater, and 
there hand him over to Sir Nicholas Vaux, vs^ho, in 
taking charge of the prisoner, declares he assumes 
such a task w^ith regret. To this Buckingham re- 
joins that just as his father lost his life on the block, 
he too must now^ lose his, but that Henry VIII., by 
removing him from the v^orld, makes him happy 
*at one stroke.' He further adds that he was 
granted the satisfaction of a trial, — a boon not vouch- 
safed his father, — and again proclaims his innocence 
although condemned as traitor. 

When he has gone, the gentlemen regret so w^orthy 
a nobleman should be thus removed, and predict great 
w^oes v^^ill result from such w^rongs. Then, one of 
them mentions rumours of a separation between the 
King and Queen, v^^hich gossip, brought to His 
Majesty's notice, called forth his sudden anger. 
But, although silenced by Henry himself, the cour- 
tiers are avi^are Wolsey supplied the King vi^ith a 
list of reasons v^^hy he should never have married 
Katharine, and that an emissary has arrived from 
Rome to investigate the case. It is further sug- 
gested that the Cardinal is doing this merely to 
punish the emperor — Katharine's great-nephew — for 
not giving him the bishopric of Toledo, and both 



Henry Fill 293 

gentlemen feel sure Henry will finally have his 
way; but, fearing to be overheard, they retire to dis- 
cuss this matter in private. 

The curtain next rises on an antechamber in the 
palace, where the chamberlain reads a letter, stating 
the horses he sent for have been seized by order of 
the Cardinal. Just then the Dukes of Norfolk and 
Suffolk join him, inquiring how His Majesty is em- 
ployed, and express surprise to hear he is 'full of 
sad thoughts and trouble.' When they wonder 
what can have caused the royal dejection, the 
chamberlain declares the crime of having married 
his brother's wife has crept too near the royal con- 
science, a statement Suffolk slily alters into 'his 
conscience has crept too near another lady.' Be- 
sides, Norfolk ascribes this dissatisfaction to the 
Cardinal's influence, adding that His Majesty will 
ultimately discover his minister's slyness, which day 
Suffolk fervently prays may soon dawn. 

Then Norfolk informs all present how Wolsey has 
broken the league between England and the Em- 
pire, and is even now suggesting that the King 
be divorced from the lady to whom he has been 
married for twenty years, and who has ever 
been a model wife. The chamberlain feels sure 
Wolsey is doing this for the sake of concluding an 
alliance between their monarch and a French Prin- 
cess, artful machinations Henry must discover ere 
long. All ardently hope Wolsey's plans will mis- 
carry so they can be freed from his tyranny, and all 
decide to approach the King in hopes of undermin- 
ing the minister, save the chamberlain, who deems 
the moment inauspicious. 



294 Henry VIII 

Henry VIII. is reading and musing as the cour- 
tiers draw near and comment upon his sad looks. 
Becoming aware of their presence, he irritably de- 
mands how they dare interrupt his meditations, and 
when Norfolk urges they come on state affairs, re- 
joins this is not the hour for temporal matters, as 
the entrance of Wolsey with the papal legate, 
Campeius, proves. After emphatically addressing 
Wolsey as 'the quiet of my wounded conscience,' 
Henry gravedly welcome the Legate, too. Then 
Wolsey informs his master they have private mat- 
ters to discuss with him, if he can grant them an 
hour's conversation, and the monarch dismisses Nor- 
folk and Suffolk, who exchange angry whispers in 
regard to Wolsey's pride and his unbounded in- 
fluence over Henry, ere leaving the room. 

Addressing his Majesty, Wolsey now assures him 
he has set the world a good example by freely com- 
mitting his 'scruple to the voice of Christendom,' 
and adds the Legate has come to decide the mar- 
riage question which has so troubled him. Invited 
to speak, Campeius, in his turn, praises Henry for 
awaiting Rome's decision, adding that he and Car- 
dinal Wolsey have been delegated to settle the mat- 
ter In the Pope's name. After flatteringly terming 
them 'two equal men,' the King informs them the 
Queen shall be apprised of the purpose of their 
visit; but when he eagerly asks for Gardiner, 
Wolsey feigns deafness, and states they realise how 
dearly he loves Katharine. In reply Henry tries 
to prove his deep affection for her by pompously 
stating, whoever does his best for her will deserve 
most from him. Then, as he again asks for Gard- 



Henry VIII 295 

iner, his new secretary, whom hq styles an excellent 
fellow, Wolsey hastens out to summon this man, 
whom he soon ushers In, congratulating him in an 
aside for having won the King's favour. In low 
tones, Gardiner assures the Cardinal that although 
his Majesty commands his service, he will ever be 
mindful that he was raised to his present station 
by Wolsey's hand. 

Drawing his secretary aside, Henry now begins 
a whispered conversation with him, while the two 
cardinals discuss his predecessors. All at once, the 
King hands Gardiner a paper, bidding him transmit 
it to the Queen, and then turning to the clergymen 
once more, announces the hall of Black Friars shall 
be furnished for this weighty business. Wolsey, to 
whom the necessary orders are given, is further 
asked in sentimental tones whether it would not 
'grieve an able man to leave so sweet a bedfellow?' 
ere the King adds with affected sadness, 'but, con- 
science, conscience! O, 'tis a tender place; and I 
must leave her." 

In an antechamber of the Queen's apartment, 
Anne Bullen, talking to an old lady, states she can- 
not understand how His Highness, having lived so 
long with a blameless wife, can now set her aside. 
The old lady agrees that even the hardest-hearted 
would now pity Katharine, and Anne declares if a 
separation be God's will, it would have been better 
never to have known such pomp, for divorce seems 
to her as painful as the severing of soul, and body. 
When the old lady states Katharine is already a 
stranger to His Majesty, Anne Bullen expresses 
compassion for her, and avers nothing would ever 



296 Henry VIII 

induce her to become Queen. Thereupon the old 
lady assures her every woman necessarily covets 
such a position, a statement Anne combats, al- 
though her interlocutor asserts she vv^ould change 
her mind vv^ere she asked to be a royal consort. 

Then she twits Anne with having already found 
favour in His Majesty's sight, a fact which Anne 
disputes, but which is confirmed by the entrance of 
a chamberlain, announcing the King has created her 
Marchioness of Pembroke, and grants her a pension 
to uphold the title. Overcome by such a mark of 
royal favour, Anne stammers, 'I do not know what 
kind of my obedience I should tender; more than my 
all is nothing;' and begs the chamberlain to ex- 
press her gratitude to His Royal Highness. Not 
only does this official undertake to do so, but mur- 
murs in an aside he plainly sees what has caught 
the eye of the King, and that this lady may soon 
grace the throne. He has barely gone, when the 
old lady teases Anne upon her conqust, and although 
the damsel protests innocence, her new title scarcely 
bears out this protest in her companion's judgment. 
Finally Anne breaks off the conversation under plea 
that Katharine is comfortless and they should go 
and cheer her. 

The legality of the King's marriage is about to 
be tried in Black Friars' hall. The King, himself, 
with all his court, and the clergymen headed by 
Wolsey in cardinal robes, are present, and silently 
await the reading of the commission from Rome. 
The King, however, decreeing no time shall be 
wasted in vain preliminaries, the crier proceeds to 
summon King Henry of England and Queen Kath- 



• Henry Fill 297 

arlne. The latter, Instead of responding in the 
prescribed manner, rises from her throne and falls 
at His Majesty's feet, begging him to show compas- 
sion to a stranger, and asks why he wishes to set 
aside one who has been a 'true and humble wife,' 
at all times to his will conformable? Her long 
and eloquent plea is answered by Wolsey instead of 
the King, who informs her that as the reverend 
fathers are here to defend her cause, she had better 
be silent, an opinion in which the Legate concurs. 
This, however, does not suit Katharine, who indig- 
nantly charges the Cardinal with having 'blown this 
coal betwixt my lord and me; which God's dew 
quench!' adding that she abhors him from her 
very soul and refuses to accept as judge one whom 
she considers a malicious foe, and an enemy to truth. 
Deprecatingly remarking Her Majesty is not speak- 
ing like herself, Wolsey denies having stirred up 
trouble between her and the King, and implores 
Henry himself to confirm his words. As Henry 
does not reply, Katharine suddenly decides to ap- 
peal to the Pope instead of allowing the Cardinals to 
judge in this matter. Then, courtesying to the 
King, she leaves the hall, although the Legate ob- 
jects. His Majesty tries to detain her, and the crier 
frantically calls her back. Without paying heed to 
any of them, Katharine sweeps out, vowing she will 
never appear again, in any court, on this business! 

After she has vanished, the King pronounces a 
moved eulogy of her rare qualities. Seeing the im- 
pression this produces, Wolsey reminds Henry that 
unless he publicly acquits him of making trouble be- 
tween him and the Queen, every one will deem him 



298 Henry VIII 

at fault. Thereupon Henry fully exonerates 
Wolsey In a lengthy speech, asserting the divorce 
question arose when he tried to conclude an alli- 
ance between his daughter Mary and the Duke of 
Orleans, and the French questioned the legitimacy 
of the Princess' birth. This was the first Intima- 
tion Henry had had that he was sinning against the 
laws of the church. All present seem deeply Im- 
pressed by this statement, and when the King adds 
he started proceedings for that reason only, the 
Legate regrets the case cannot Immediately be tried, 
but avers that, owing to the Queen's absence, it 
will have to be adjourned. He also suggests that 
an earnest attempt be made to restrain Katharine 
from making an appeal to the Pope. Hearing the 
two Cardinals temporise thus, Henry mutters in a 
wrathful aside that they are trifling with him, and 
that he abhors the 'dilatory sloth and tricks of 
Rome.' In his quandary he longs for his 'learn'd 
and well-be-loved servant, Cranmer' whose approach 
he feels will bring him comfort, and ordering the 
court dissolved, passes out with due pomp. 

Act hi. The rising curtain reveals Queen 
Katharine sewing, while one of her women sings a 
charming song about Orpheus' magic music. As 
it ends, an usher announces that the two Cardinals 
wish to speak to the Queen. Although Katharine 
betrays surprise, remarks she does not like their com- 
ing thus, and that 'all hoods make not monks'; she 
orders the visitors admitted. After greeting Her 
Majesty, Wolsey and Campelus crave a private au- 
dience, which Katharine refuses, declaring they will 
have to discuss all questions openly as she has done 



Henry Fill 299 

nothing yet that 'deserves a corner.* Because the 
Legate addresses her In Latin, she claims to have 
lived too long in England to find any tongue save 
English familiar, and when Wolsey reiterates he 
has no share in the King's attempt to divorce her, 
refuses to believe or trust either him or his compan- 
ion, pitifully moaning she is a woman, a stranger 
and friendless! 

Although Wolsey immediately avers with indigna- 
tion such is not the case, Katharine ably demonstrates 
that no one in England will dare side with her, for 
fear of forfeiting the King's favour. The Legate is 
still trying to induce her to listen to their advice, 
when she suddenly turns upon him, declaring they are 
plotting her ruin, and that she trusts her cause to 
heaven where sits a judge no King can corrupt. As 
her interlocutors protest, she bitterly adds that in- 
stead of the cardinal virtues they possess the car- 
dinal sins, and hotly bids them beware lest the bur- 
den of her sorrows fall upon them. Although by 
subtle arguments they endeavour to persuade her 
to grant them the audience as they wish, the Queen 
long refuses, but, yielding at last, goes out with 
them, saying she regrets if she has proved unman- 
nerly, but feels every one's hand is against her. 

We next behold the antechamber to the royal 
apartment where many noblemen have collected, 
and where Norfolk Insists that If they unite com- 
plaints and show sufficient persistence, the Car- 
dinal will not be able to stand against their ef- 
forts. Surrey, — delighted to have a chance to avenge 
Buckingham's murder, — ardently supports Suffolk 
when he avers none of the peers are in favour of 



300 Henry VIII 

Wolsey; but the chamberlain warns all present that 
unless they can prevent Wolsey from gaining ac- 
cess to the King, their efforts will prove vain, for 
'he hath a witchcraft over the King in 's tongue.' 
Norfolk, however, asserts that while such was 
formerly the case, the King Is now sorely displeased 
with the Cardinal, whereupon all seem eager to learn 
how such a state of affairs came about. In ex- 
planation Suffolk reveals that a letter from the 
Cardinal to the Pope fell beneath His Majesty's eyes, 
who thus learned Wolsey was opposing his mar- 
riage to Anne Bullen. Although Wolsey objects to 
this marriage solely because he has a royal alliance 
in view, Henry is furious because he has already 
secretly married his fair charmer. 

Out of opposition to Wolsey, the courtiers now 
warmly approve this alliance, Suffolk pronouncing 
Anne Bullen *a gallant creature,' while Surrey 
sagely predicts the King will hardly 'digest the 
letter of the Cardinal.' Some lords further report 
that the papal legate has stolen away to Rome as 
Wolsey 's emissary, and that Henry resents his secret 
departure. Hearing Norfolk Inquire how soon 
Cranmer will return, Suffolk assures him this 
learned man's opinion fully concurs with that of 
the Catholic clergy In pronouncing Katharine's 
marriage Invalid, and that he has already decreed 
she shall henceforth bear only the title of 'Prin- 
cess Dowager,' to which she Is entitled as Prince 
Arthur's widow. In return for these signal serv- 
ices, Cranmer, It Is rumored, will shortly be named 
archbishop. 

They are still discussing this matter when Wolsey 



Henry Fill 301 

enters with his secretary, Cromwell, paying no heed 
to the bystanders, but inquiring whether his packet 
of papers was delivered to the King? Not only 
does Cromwell assure him he delivered the papers 
in person, but reports how, after unsealing the packet, 
Henry stared fixedly at one document and finally 
ordered Wolsey should attend him on the morrow. 
While the secretary goes to ascertain whether 
Henry will now grant his minister audience, the 
Cardinal, still ignoring the courtiers, muses upon 
the advantages of a royal alliance between England 
and France. Watching his frowning countenance, 
the courtiers conclude he must be troubled about 
weighty matters, which proves a fact, because in his 
soliloquy Wolsey declares that although Anne BuUen 
is virtuous and well-deserving, she is *a spleeny 
Lutheran,' and that he mistrusts the influence she 
and Cranmer may exert upon the King. 

The nobles have just decided Wolsey is sorely out 
of humour, when Henry VHI. comes in conning a 
paper. Muttering something about great wealth 
accumulated, and mad expense indulged in, the 
King looks up suddenly and inquires for the Car- 
dinal, who does not stand within his range of vision. 
Obsequiously, Norfolk now assures His Majesty they 
have been marvelling at Wolsey's looks and expres- 
sion, which he maliciously describes. Dryly com- 
menting 'there's mutiny in 's mind,' Henry adds 
he discovered among the papers Wolsey sent him 
an exact inventory of the wealth the Cardinal has 
amassed, wealth too great for any subject. While 
Norfolk piously ejaculates Providence directed the 
misplacing of this paper, the King mutters that were 



302 Henry VIII 

his minister's mind solely engaged in spiritual mat- 
ters he would not disturb him, but that evidently it 
dwells upon temporal affairs also. 

After taking his seat, Henry whispers to an at- 
tendant, who immediately approaches the Cardinal. 
The latter, sunk in revery, has not noticed the en- 
trance of his master. When thus summoned, he 
humbly begs forgiveness, and although evidently 
surprised at receiving a sarcastic rejoinder to his 
apology, returns a gentle answer, stating that as His 
Majesty is pleased to imply, part of his time is 
indeed devoted to holy matters, part to business, and 
a trifle to pleasure by way of recreation. Because 
the King remarks Wolsey was high in his father's 
favour, and that he himself has spared nothing to 
show appreciation of his services, the Cardinal be- 
comes uneasy, while his enemies, listening with all 
their ears, betray malicious satisfaction. When 
Henry grimly inquires whether Wolsey does not 
owe him all he possesses, the Cardinal humbly pro- 
fesses deep gratitude, and vows his prayers will ever 
follow his master. After Wolsey has thus admitted 
his indebtedness, Henry thrusts a paper at him, 
curtly bidding him read it, 'and then to breakfast 
with what appetite you have.' Saying this, and still 
frowning portentously, Henry passes out of the 
room, leaving Wolsey to ponder upon this sudden 
exhibition of anger, before he opens the papers, 
which he discovers to be the inventory of his wealth 
and his letter to the Pope! 

The fact that the King has perused these docu- 
ments, convinces Wolsey at a glance that all is 
over, that he has indeed 'touch'd the highest point' 



Henry VIII 303 

of all his greatness, and that from that full meridian 
of his glory, he hastens now to his setting. He 
realises that he shall fall like a 'bright exhalation in 
the evening,' and no man see him more, and is 
musing on the greatness of his fall, when the lords 
return, to summon him in the King's name to sur- 
render the great seal, and retire to Asher House 
until further notice. Instead of tamely complying, 
Wolsey demands the nobles' authority, and when 
they become Insolent, haughtily explains that the 
seal having been entrusted to him by Henry for 
life, he cannot surender it to any one else. 

Happy at being able to defy their former foe, 
the nobles now treat Wolsey with such contempt, 
that they goad him into exclaiming they would 
never have dared address him so a few hours ago. 
Heedless of these words, Surrey rejoins Wolsey's 
ambition brought these woes upon him, ere he 
taunts him with slaying Buckingham, and with 
banishing his son-in-law to Ireland, so he could not 
lend aid. When Wolsey Insists that the Duke was 
tried and found guilty, Surrey hotly reviles him, 
declaring were the sum of his sins collected, the 
world would be startled by them. All the nobles, 
one after another, now enumerate the wrongs they 
lay at Wolsey's door, accusing him of all manner 
of Illegal acts, and reminding him they will report 
to the King his refusal to surrender the seal! 

Left finally alone on the stage, Wolsey bids fare- 
well to his greatness in a magnificent speech, 
wherein he compares his past glory to the rapid 
growth of some luxuriant plant, and his present 
downfall to the effect a killing frost would have 



304 Henry Fill 

upon it. He declares his high born pride has given 
way beneath him, and that in old age he is forsaken 
by all, a state of affairs only too likely to befall 
those who depend upon the favour of princes. As 
he ends this wonderful soliloquy, Cromwell enters, 
speechless with grief at what has occurred, and when 
Wolsey inquires the cause of his tears, he touch- 
ingly tries to show sympathy. In return, Wolsey 
assures the secretary His Majesty has removed from 
his shoulders a burden 'too heavy for a man that 
hopes for heaven!' When Cromwell loyally opines 
Wolsey ever made good use of his power, the 
Cardinal fervently hopes he did, and prays for forti- 
tude to support him in adversity. In reply to an 
inquiry for news, he then learns how Sir Thomas 
More has already been chosen as chancellor, Cran- 
mer appointed Archbishop of Canterbury, and Anne 
Bullen — to whom the King has been secretly mar- 
ried, — publicly recognised as Queen, her corona- 
tion being evidently near at hand. 

Hearing this, Wolsey recognises 'there was the 
weight that pull'd me down,' and charges Cromwell 
to seek the favour of his Majesty, whom he can ably 
serve, and before whom Wolsey has often praised 
his talents. When Cromwell expresses keen regret 
at leaving Wolsey, the latter assures him his sym- 
pathy is the only thmg which has brought tears to 
his eyes in the course of this day. He also bids 
Cromwell, after he is forgotten, remind people that 
Wolsey taught him all he knows, and adds some 
good advice, urging him to fling away ambition. He 
also charges him to 'be just and fear not,' and above 
all to aim only at the good of his country, his God 



Henry Fill 305 

and truth. Then delivering the inventory of his 
possessions, which are all to be transferred to the 
King, Wolsey utters his memorable speech, *0 
Cromwell, Cromwell! Had I but served my God 
with half the zeal I served my King, he would not 
in mine age, have left me naked to mine enemies * 
Then, solemnly declaring his hopes now dwell it 
heaven, Wolsey, the disgraced minister, leaves the 
English court forever. 

Act IV. The fourth act opens in a street in 
Westminster, where two gentlemen pause to con- 
verse, one of them stating he has come to see Anne 
Bullen return from her coronation, while the other 
remembers when they last met It was to see Buck- 
ingham led to execution. They comment on the 
changes since then, on the titles and offices bestowed 
in honour of this new coronation, and on the fact 
that Queen Katharine, although she refused to ap- 
pear before the commission, has nevertheless been 
divorced and removed to KImbolton, where she 
now lies mortally 111. 

It is at this point trumpets herald the appear- 
ance of the coronation procession, which advances 
with great pomp, Anne Bullen in royal robes march- 
ing beneath a canopy supported by four lords. She 
is, besides, escorted by bishops and followed by ladles, 
each bearing the Insignia of her rank, and the spec- 
tators comment upon the pageant as It sweeps past, 
exclaiming the Queen has 'the sweetest face' they 
ever looked upon, and averring that the King 'has 
all the Indies In his arms' when he embraces her. 
While these remarks are made, the procession passes 
out of sight, and a third gentleman, joining the 



3o6 Henry Fill 

other two, vouchsafes a lively account of the coro- 
nation ceremony in Westminster Abbey, where Anne 
Bullen was anointed with holy oil, and invested 
with the Confessor's crown. He adds, that after 
the Te Deum, she will proceed to Wolsey's former 
palace, of which the King has taken possession, and 
which is henceforth to bear the name of Whitehall. 
When the two gentlemen inquire who were the 
bishops on either side of the Queen, they learn their 
names are Stokesley and Gardiner, that the latter 
is no friend of 'the virtuous Cranmer,' and that 
Thomas Cromwell has been appointed treasurer 
and member of the Privy Council. Then they go 
off, to dine together, and further discuss the mo- 
mentous happenings of the day. 

We now behold a room in Kimbolton which 
Katharine enters, supported by attendants who so- 
licitously inquire how she feels? Feebly rejoining 
she is sick unto death, she sinks into a seat and asks 
whether her gentleman did not just mention Cardi- 
nal Wolsey's death? Then she wishes to hear the 
particulars of his end, declaring 'if well, he stepp'd 
before me, happily for my example.' The gentle- 
man therefore graphically describes Wolsey's arrest 
at York, his illness on his way back to London, and 
the fact that he was finally obliged to beg hospi- 
tality of the Abbot of Leicester, whom he addressed 
saying, 'O father abbot, an old man, broken with 
the storms of state, is come to lay his weary bones 
among ye; give him a little earth for charity!' Al- 
ready mortally ill, he was then put to bed, and three 
days after breathed his last, 'full of repentance, 
continual meditations, tears and sorrows, he gave 



Henry VIII 307 

his honours to the world again, his blessed part to 
heaven, and slept in peace.' 

Queen Katharine charitably hopes Wolsey may 
rest in peace, his faults lying gently on him, although 
she still deems him guilty of great misdeeds. Hear- 
ing this, her gentleman reminds her that 'men's evil 
manners live in brass; their virtues we write in 
water,' and begs permission to pronounce the eulogy 
of Wolsey. In an eloquent speech he then mentions 
the Cardinal's benefactions, amongst which the 
founding of the universities of Ipswich and Oxford, 
and concludes saying, 'he died fearing God.' Hear- 
ing so charitable an estimate, the Queen trusts she 
may have as kindly an eulogiser when she dies, and 
declares her servant has shamed her by showing her 
how short-sighted were her views. Then, feeling 
very weary, she calls for music, and bids her at- 
tendants leave her to rest. 

While her eyes are closed, she is favoured by a 
vision, wherein six white robed figures, garlanded 
with bay and holding palms, move in the mazes of a 
mystic dance, and place a garland on her head. 
Queen Katharine opens her eyes only as they vanish, 
and faintly wonders where they have gone. Hear- 
ing her speak, her attendants return, but although 
they have seen nothing, the Queen assures them 
heavenly visitors have invited her to a banquet and 
promised her eternal happiness. The attendants 
pronounce this a 'good dream,' before one of them 
notices that Her Majesty's countenance has changed 
and perceives she is failing rapidly. 

Just then a messenger comes In, and the Queen 
noticing he does not kneel before her, terms him a 



30 8 Henry VIII 

*saucy fellow.' Bidding her attendants never allow 
this man, — who has failed in respect to her, — to ap- 
pear before her again, Katharine curtly dimisses 
him, before giving audience to the emissary from the 
Emperor of Germany. After remarking to this 
nobleman how sorely times have changed. Queen 
Katharine receives his message, and, calling for a 
letter she has penned, entrusts it to him to place 
in Henry's hands. She reveals that it contains an 
entreaty to the King to bring up well their daugh- 
ter Mary, and to provide for her women and other 
servants. Since it is evidently a species of last will 
and testament, the ambassador solemnly promises to 
deliver it, and Katharine, after a last loving message 
for Henry, turns to her maid with explicit direc- 
tions for her funeral, begging that none but white 
flowers be used on her coffin, since she died 'a chaste 
wife.' 

Act V. The fifth act opens in London, in a 
gallery of the palace, where Gardiner meets Sir 
Thomas Lovell, who reports the King at cards with 
Suffolk. Because Lovell declares he must see His 
Majesty before night, Suffolk inquires the nature 
of his business, only to learn Anne Bullen's life is 
in grave danger. Although not sorry to hear she 
is about to die, Gardiner hopes her child may live, 
for he is very anxious his master should have a male 
heir. Hearing Lovell term Anne a good creature, 
Gardiner darkly intimates they will have no peace 
until she, Cranmer, and Cromwell, sleep in their 
graves. Although related to the Queen, Lovell 
does not resent these strictures, because he, too, con- 
siders these men have too great influence at court. 



Henry Fill 309 

Noticing this, Gardiner confides to him a plan made 
to circumvent Cranmer on the morrow, for his 
enemies have arranged that he be called before a 
council, where he will be charged with heresy, and 
rooted out like 'a rank weed.' 

Gardiner and the page having gone, Lovell lingers 
in the gallery until the King and Suffolk enter. His 
Majesty declining to play any more because he is 
losing. Perceiving Lovell, Henry now eagerly in- 
quires what news has been received of the Queen, 
only to learn Anne Bullen begs him to pray for her. 
Thus made aware of her peril, Henry pities her, 
while his companion expresses hopes there may soon 
be an heir. 

Unable to sleep under such circumstances, the 
King dismisses his attendants, saying he wishes to 
remain alone. He has barely enjoyed a few seconds 
of solitude, when he is informed the Archbishop 
awaits his pleasure. A moment later Cranmer, — 
now Archbishop of Canterbury — is ushered in, and 
the King, noticing Lovell lurking in the background 
sternly bids him begone. His countenance is so for- 
bidding when Cranmer approaches, that, fearing he 
has Incurred royal displeasure, he humbly kneels 
before His Majesty, stating he has come to learn his 
wishes. After inviting him to rise and pace the 
gallery with him, Henry begins a lengthy speech, 
which fills Cranmer's heart with apprehension, be- 
cause he is told in it so many grievous complaints 
have been made against him of late, that His Majesty 
is going to have him taken to the Tower until he can 
answer them. Still, the King adds he personally 
warns Cranmer of this fact, mainly because he 



3IO Henry Fill 

wishes his enemies to have full play before he Inter- 
feres publicly In the affair. 

Kneeling before his Majesty, Cranmer avers he 
gladly seizes 'this good occasion most thoroughly 
to be winnow'd,' where his 'chaff and corn shall 
fly asunder,' and, seeing how well he has stood the 
test, Henry bids him rise, exclaiming anyone else 
would have petitioned for mercy. When Cranmer 
claims that, standing upon his truth and honesty 
he fears nothing that can be said against him, the 
King reminds him he has many foes and hence Is 
wooing destruction. As, secure In his Innocence, 
Cranmer remains steadfast, Henry gives him a ring, 
telling him should the council prove unjust, he 
need but produce this jewel and appeal to his sov- 
ereign for aid. Because Cranmer's tears freely flow 
at so signal a mark of favour, the King, with emo- 
tion, bids him begone, and Cranmer obeys, after 
speechlessly showing his gratitude. 

It Is while Henry Is still alone that an old lady 
forces her way in, notwithstanding Lovell's frantic 
attempts to prevent her approach. She Is the bearer 
of good tidings, and from her opening speech the 
King joyfully concludes he has a son, until the old 
lady Informs him * 'tis a girl, promises boys here- 
after,' assuring him the new-comer Is as like him 
'as cherry Is to cherry.' . Turning to Lovell, Henry 
orders a reward of one hundred marks bestowed 
upon the bringer of these good tidings, and hurries 
out to join the Queen, while the old woman grum- 
bles such a guerdon Is Inadequate, and that she will 
yet 'scold' more out of His Majesty. 

We next see the council chamber, where pages 



Henry VIII 311 

and attendants crowd around a fast closed door. 
On arriving thither, Cranmer is denied admittance, 
and wonders why a message was sent to hasten his 
coming. Even though he summons the keeper to 
admit him, he is rudely bidden wait, an indignity 
witnessed by the King's physician, who promptly 
determines this piece of malice shall become known 
to His Majesty. Noting him hurry past, Cranmer 
nervously hopes he has not fathomed the depths of 
his disgrace, and seen a church dignitary waiting 
among grooms and pages! 

Meanwhile the physician has decoyed the King 
to a window overlooking the council hall, under pre- 
text of showing him the strangest sight he ever wit- 
nessed. Curiously peering forth, Henry beholds 'his 
grace of Canterbury, who holds his state at door,' 
and waxes indignant to think his council should 
treat an Archbishop so cavalierly. 

The curtain next rises on the interior of the 
council chamber, as the Lord Chancellor opens 
the meeting. Then the secretary, — Cromwell, — 
solemnly announces that they have come hither to 
try his grace of Canterbury, who is charged by the 
Chancellor with filling the realm with new and dan- 
gerous opinions. To this statement Gardiner adds 
that such opinions have already worked such dire 
havoc in Germany, that it behooves them to check 
betimes their spread in England. Although Cran- 
mer insists he has not undermined the public peace, 
and implores his lordship to confront him with his 
accusers, all the noblemen present declare no one 
will publicly appear against a counsellor. Hearing 
this, Gardiner spitefully suggests Cranmer be de- 



312 Henry VIII 

prlved of his office and sent to the Tower, for when 
he Is thus reduced to the rank of a common citizen, 
people will freely voice their complaints. 

Protesting against such a degradation, Cranmer 
avers he served his country faithfully, but Gardiner 
reviles him until Cromwell remarks it is cruel 
to taunt a fallen man. This interference causes 
Gardiner to inquire tartly whether Cromwell 
favours the new sect also, only to be told were 
he half as honest as those he accuses, all would be 
well! The quarrel between Gardiner and Cran- 
mer waxes so virulent that the council finally ad- 
vises both to forbear, and decides that Cranmer 
shall be conveyed to the Tower, in spite of his pro- 
tests. The Chancellor has just summoned the 
guards, and is about to consign the prisoner to 
their keeping, when Cranmer exclaims he has some- 
thing more to say, and producing the royal ring 
solemnly appeals to the King. Surprised at the 
sight of a pledge which Suffolk pronounces genuine, 
and before which Norfolk quails, the Chancellor 
stammers they have evidently gone too far, and that 
he wishes they 'were fairly out on 't! Cromwell 
adds he mistrusted they had been misinformed in 
regard to Cranmer, and apprehensively hints his 
companions have blown a fire which may yet con- 
sume them. 

It is at this juncture Henry appears, frowning 
angrily. When Gardiner tries to placate him by a 
fulsome address, he cuttingly retorts he has not come 
here to listen to flattery. Then, bidding Cranmer 
sit down, the King grimly vows should anyone 
present dare wag a finger at him, that person 'had 



Henry VIII 313 

better starve.* When Surrey timidly tries to ex- 
culpate himself, the King wrathfuUy silences him, 
and declares his courtiers went too far when they 
forced a great and honest man to wait at the gate 
like a vile commoner. He adds that even a royal 
commission did not entitle them to behave thus, and 
that it is plain they have proceeded 'more out of 
malice than integrity.' Because the Chancellor tries 
to mitigate the royal displeasure, the King sternly 
orders him and the rest to 'use' Cranmer well, in 
return for all he has done for the state. Then, to 
show all present how highly he prizes his faithful 
servant, Henry VHI. informs Cranmer he wishes 
him to serve as godfather to a 'fair young maid/ 
who now awaits baptism. This new honour is posi- 
tively overwhelming to Cranmer, but when he ven- 
tures to pretext utter unworthiness, His Majesty 
jocosely twits him with trying to save his spoons, — 
the usual christening present. After exacting that 
the former foes, Gardiner and Cranmer, embrace in 
his presence, Henry VHI. departs, inviting all pres- 
ent to the christening of his and Anne Bullen's 
daughter. 

The next scene is played in the palace-yard, where 
the porter becomes angry because so many people 
crowd round the gate to obtain a share of the chris- 
tening largesses. It soon becomes impossible to re- 
strain them, for they burst in whenever the doors 
are opened. The dialogue between the porter and 
. *s man, gives an idea of the language, manners, and 
views, of men of that class, at that day, and it con- 
tinues until the old chamberlain appears, comment- 
ing upon the crowd, and congratulating the porter 



314 Henry VIII 

and his man upon their efforts to keep order. This 
official further announces that the christening party 
is even now on its way back to the palace, and bids 
both men drive back the crowd on either side, and 
thus open a passage for the procession, which files 
past in full splendour, headed by the Lord Mayor, 
and by the nobles bearing the christening gifts. 

Next, we perceive the small heroine of the day, 
pompously borne by the Duchess of Norfolk, and 
escorted by her other sponsors. As the procession 
sweeps past, a Knight of the Garter loudly pro- 
claims, 'Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send 
prosperous life, long and ever happy, to the high 
and mighty Princess of England, Elizabeth !' Then, 
after a flourish of trumpets the royal father himself 
appears, and Cranmer, bowing low before him, 
wishes him and his wife comfort and joy in the 
little lady just admitted to the bosom of the church. 
After thanking Cranmer for his good offices and 
congratulations, the King inquires what name was 
bestowed at the font upon his daughter, and kisses 
her, giving her his fatherly blessing. Then, turn- 
ing to the godfathers and godmothers, he gently 
chides them for bestowing such lavish gifts, adding 
that Elizabeth herself shall thank them 'when she 
has so much English.* 

After obtaining permission to speak, Cranmer 
predicts, — in a wonderful speech, — all that Eliza- 
beth will ultimately mean in England, which under 
her sway will become greater than ever. His elo- 
quent prophesy in regard to 'Queen Bess' and to her 
successor, causes the King to marvel aloud, and when 
Cranmer concludes his peroration with the remark 



Henry Fill 315 

'a most unspotted lily she shall pass to the ground, 
and all the world shall mourn her,' Henry prays 
devoutly he may look down from heaven to behold 
these wonders. Then, turning to the people present, 
he invites them all to the christening festivities, and 
proclaims a national holiday in honour of hi? child. 
This play concludes with an epilogue, stating it 
will probably fail to please the audience, because 
those who have come to theatre to seek their ease 
have not been able to sleep in peace owing to the 
trumpets, and those in quest of wit will have been 
sorely disappointed; still, the playwright feels con- 
fident if good women will only praise his play, the 
men for their sakes will applaud it. 



THE END 



SEP 80 kl2 



